Like a Seal Upon Your Heart
by Dramatricks
Summary: Quinn Fabray is Daddy's little girl and the perfect Christian.  She CAN'T be gay.  But then her friendship with Rachel Berry starts to change... Originally from a prompt on the rq meme at LJ.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Like a Seal Upon Your Heart  
**Pairings:** Eventual R/Q, P/Q, F/R  
**Rating:** Up to NC-17  
**Disclaimer:** The characters are not mine. Some dialogue used directly from Glee, so also not mine.  
**Spoilers: **Through Journey.  
**Summary:** From a prompt in the angst section at **rq_meme** on Livejournal. AU. Rachel and Quinn are friends, 17 years old, are in their junior year. Quinn was never a Cheerio, never got pregnant.  
**Warning:** This fic contains het sex and deals quite heavily with religion. You've been warned.

**A/N:** FFN won't accept the less-than-three symbol for Rachel's texts, so, I had to use *heart*. Just fyi.

* * *

_Richmond Elementary School, October 2005_

Her dress was floor-length, a muted sage color with a sash around the waist, garnished by a flower… and it was the most uncomfortable thing Quinn Fabray had ever worn in her life. And none of the other 11-year-olds were dressed like this, with their simple skirts or dresses like the ones she wore to church. But Judy Fabray had insisted, and only Quinn's older sister Abbie had had sympathy enough to pat her on the shoulder.

She didn't like to stick out like a sore thumb, either, but the Fabrays always managed it, somehow.

Her father hadn't done much dancing, even though she stubbornly reminded him once that this was a Father-Daughter dance. Russell Fabray was content to just stand by the punch bowl talking to the other fathers, no doubt about boring things like business. She knew her father was probably wishing that there was something stronger than just punch in that bowl.

Quinn made her way over to the refreshments table and stood patiently, hands held primly in front of her like her mother had taught. The Fabrays were nothing if not models of decorum and politeness, and it had been drilled into Quinn since birth. Her father was well-known in the community, not just through his business but through the church, and for his family, image was everything.

Finally noticing his daughter at his elbow, Mr. Fabray smiled down at her. "Everything all right, Quinn?"

She smiled back, first at him, then the other men standing around her father. "Yes, sir. I wanted to ask you a question."

"And what question does my Quinn have for me?"

The other fathers were smiling now, clearly impressed with Mr. Fabray's little girl.

"May I please go play on the swings, daddy?"

Her father's brow furrowed, and she steeled herself for his "no" answer.

"It's going to be dark soon, and your mother will have both of our hides if you get your dress dirty, Quinn."

She nodded. "Yes, sir. But I'll come back in before it's dark, and I promise I won't get my dress dirty. Please, daddy?"

She affected the best pouty look she could, knowing her father was powerless to resist.

And he was. He laughed and said, "You see, I can never turn down those hazel eyes of hers." The other men laughed in agreement. "Go on, then. Fifteen minutes, and don't wander off anywhere else."

"Okay!" She said happily. "Thank you, daddy."

"Beautiful little girl you've got there, Russ," she heard Jessica Davis' father say as she skipped off.

"She's a jewel in my crown, that's for sure," her father said.

The October night was just growing cool; the sun had begun fading into a glorious pink over the trees. Quinn tugged at her dress, grateful that the dance would soon be over and she would be able to take the stupid thing off and put on her favorite comfy pajamas.

Her thoughts stilled, though, when she realized that she wouldn't be alone on the playground.

The other girl was smaller; in the same grade as Quinn but a different class. She was wearing a pleated black skirt with a sweater, but she hadn't been in the dance. She was just swinging, tiny fingers gripping the chains, chin lifted up as she stared at something beyond the brick line of Richmond Elementary.

"Rachel?"

Her gaze snapped over to Quinn, softening when she saw the blonde girl.

"Hello, Quinn. Enjoying the dance?"

Quinn shrugged. "Not really," she said with a grin, taking her place on the swing next to Rachel – after first wiping the dirt off with her hand.

"My dad doesn't dance much, and I'm bored. So I came out here for a few minutes."

Rachel nodded, but didn't respond. The girls fell into silence then, broken only by Quinn's question.

"How come you're not inside?"

"Oh, I'm not participating in the dance. I don't quite understand our school's enjoyment of forced social situations."

"Oh." Quinn just nodded.

Rachel smiled at her a little. "Besides, I refuse to choose between my daddies."

Everyone knew that Rachel Berry had two dads. Not that she had a father and then a stepdad; no, Rachel had two dads that lived together, loved each other, and… probably did things that Quinn was pretty sure her pastor at Lighthouse Baptist had preached against several times.

Her unusual family had left Rachel somewhat ostracized, Quinn knew, but that was about it. They moved in different circles, different classes, and she was pretty sure that in her entire six years at school, this conversation was the longest one she'd ever had with Rachel.

"Well, so, what are you doing out here then?"

The music was still audible; Quinn could hear the pulsing rhythm of some pop song echoing across the asphalt. Rachel swung quietly for a few minutes; out of the corner of her eye Quinn could see that the girl's head was tilted, her tongue tucked between her teeth as if she was deep in thought. Her left hand untangled from the chain, and one small finger moved to push a lock of brown curly hair behind her ear.

"I come here sometimes, just when I want to be alone. I'd forgotten the dance was tonight."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow; the dance had been all anyone at Richmond Elementary could talk about for days; there was no way Rachel couldn't have known it was tonight. But she didn't press the issue; instead, she stood up and brushed her dress off, preparing to rejoin her father.

"That's a really pretty dress."

Quinn grinned. "I hate it. It's uncomfortable."

Rachel grinned back. "I wouldn't know. I don't wear dresses like that. But you do look very nice, Quinn."

"Thanks." She felt suddenly shy, but her smile grew wider.

Rachel's head tilted again, regarding her. "You look like Juliet. Or, well, how I imagine she might look."

"Juliet?"

"Yes, from Romeo and Juliet."

Quinn just looked at her.

Rachel tried again. "William Shakespeare?"

Quinn shook her head.

Rachel blew out a slow breath, looking as if she was about to go on a long rant, but thought better of it. "Doesn't even know Shakespeare," she only muttered, before squaring her shoulders and smiling back at Quinn.

"But yes. You're pretty in that dress, like I imagine Juliet is. In the story. You should read it sometime."

"Maybe I will," Quinn nodded.

"Quinn?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Over here, Daddy." She waved at him.

He smiled as he crossed the playground. "There you are. It's time to go. Did you remember to keep your dress clean?"

"Yes, Daddy." She noticed that he was staring at Rachel, so she gestured weakly.

"This is Rachel Berry, Daddy. She's in Mr. Walker's class."

The expression on her father's face at Rachel's name wasn't lost on Quinn, and she chewed her lip nervously. Russell Fabray's disapproval of Rachel's family was well-known to his wife and daughters.

But if his smile was a little bit more strained than before, it didn't disappear, and he spoke kindly. "It's very nice to meet you, Rachel."

She nodded slowly. "It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Fabray."

"Quinn?" Her father offered his arm, and his daughter took it.

They began to walk off, but Quinn, realizing that Rachel was still behind her, turned to look over her shoulder.

"Bye, Rachel," she called with a little smile, then turned back around and allowed herself to be propelled to her father's car.

Quinn thought she heard Rachel whisper "Bye, Juliet," as she walked away.

Her father turned to her as he pointed the car in the direction of their home.

"Quinn," he began.

She knew that tone, and so she straightened up in her seat, hands clasped in her lap.

"I don't think you should be hanging around that girl."

_That girl_. It sounded poisonous, almost, coming from his lips.

"She doesn't have any other friends, Daddy."

She didn't know if it was true, but every time Quinn had seen Rachel in school – at lunch or in the library – she'd always been alone. So maybe it was true.

"I know she doesn't, and it's a very sad thing that her… well, those men didn't think about the consequences of their actions when they adopted her. Their sin is one thing, but exposing an innocent child to their perversion is despicable."

"But it isn't _her_ fault, Daddy," she protested quietly, realizing she was probably riding a very thin line with her father.

To her surprise, he only smiled a little and nodded at her. "Of course it isn't. Still, I don't want you being influenced by her, or her fathers. And as much as I think she needs a positive role model, a godly friend, I don't want it to be you. You're to stay away from her."

She also knew _that_ tone, that finality, with the underlying threat of harshness, if she dared to even think of disobedience.

So Quinn Fabray just nodded, and spoke the words by which her life was governed.

"Yes, sir."

_Quinn Fabray's room, 2010_

"I can't do this."

Somehow, studying for Spanish had ended up as _this_, with Quinn sprawled on the bed and Noah Puckerman almost on top of her, eyeing her as if she were dinner.

"Yes, you can," Puck said smoothly. "Here, have another wine cooler."

There had to be something _wrong_ about a drink called "fuzzy navel," Quinn was sure of it. But her head was already hazy and Puck's hand had already slipped up her dress to grasp her right thigh. So she downed half of the second drink in one gulp.

She was glad that her parents weren't home. She just wished Jesus would stop judging her from the wall above her bed.

"I'm president of the Celibacy Club," she tried again, a little weaker this time. She didn't know if it was the alcohol or her resolve, but she was slipping, fast. "I took a vow."

"Drop the good girl act, Quinn," Puck said, the fingers of one hand already hooking into her underwear. "We both know you didn't invite me over here, knowing your parents would be gone, to memorize bible verses."

He ran his other hand along her center, over the fabric of her underwear.

That was supposed to feel good, right? So she moaned.

"Besides, you only live once. Life's just a bunch of experiences, you know? You don't get a medal at the finish line for being good."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Puck crushed his lips to hers, harshly. "You only get dead," he growled, and bit her lower lip.

She squeaked, and he grinned.

"You can't… you can't tell anybody," she said, glancing over to the bible resting on her desk.

Her father would _kill_ her.

She was already half-expecting to be struck down anyway. And if you were going to incur God's wrath, might as well go all out.

"Our secret, baby."

Her panties were down around her knees.

"Wait!" Suddenly panicked, she pushed him away. "What about protection?"

He held up the condom package and ripped it open in a swift move.

"I got it, trust me. This isn't just another hookup for me."

She nodded, a little fearful as she watched him put the condom on. Then his hands hooked under the underside of her knees and pulled her legs apart.

He smiled, just before he climbed on top of her.

"Tell me again," Quinn sighed, closing her eyes, feeling him hard and unyielding against her thigh.

"This is what chicks and guys are _supposed_ to do."

An hour later, when she was alone and curled in her bed with her knees pulled up to her stomach, seventeen-year-old Quinn glanced up at the picture on her wall, trying to ignore the sting between her legs, and hoped to God Puck had been right.


	2. Chapter 1

"You're going to join glee!"

Quinn jumped and slammed her locker shut. Turning around, she fixed her best glare on the person now in front of her, but it faded away when she saw the girl's apologetic look.

"And why am I going to join glee?"

"Because I asked nicely?" Rachel tried.

Quinn laughed. "I don't think scaring me half to death while _ordering_ me to join glee is asking nicely, Berry."

"Yes, well." Rachel held out her books.

Quirking an eyebrow, Quinn took them.

Rachel cleared her throat, ran her hands down the front of her skirt, smoothing it, then folded her hands in front of her. She flashed Quinn her broadest, most sincere (she hoped) smile.

"Quinn Fabray, would you do me the honor of joining glee?"

Shifting Rachel's books to her other arm, Quinn lightly smacked her forehead with her palm. "Rachel," she said. "It's a _club_, and you sound like you're proposing marriage!"

Rachel snatched her books from the taller girl, and glowered at her. "Fine," she said evenly. "Walk to Spanish class by yourself."

"I've done that just fine, quite a few times," Quinn pointed out, but affectionately.

Really, she and Rachel weren't even that good of friends. They just sometimes walked to their third period Spanish class together. She liked the girl, despite her horrific taste in clothes and her tendency to be… well, incredibly obnoxious.

And if she was being honest with herself, Quinn really hated the way the smaller girl now walking next to her was treated, by the other students at William McKinley.

Rachel Berry hadn't had much luck with friends, not even back when they were 11 year old girls at Richmond Elementary. But it had seemed to get worse, once they'd hit middle and then high school. Quinn moved in entirely different social circles than Rachel: her parents were fairly wealthy, and well known in their community and their church. Quinn had never lacked friends, or potential boyfriends. She'd even been asked to join the Cheerios… okay, maybe not _asked_.

When Quinn had been a freshman, one Coach Sue Sylvester had pulled her out of her 1st period biology class.

When she'd made it to her office, Santana was sitting there, as Cheerios captain, and the coach simply pointed behind Quinn to a red, black, and white uniform hanging on the wall.

"You wear that now," Coach Sylvester had said.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't stutter, Fabray. You're blonde, you're tall, and after a week's diet you won't be fat. You're a Cheerio. And you're captain material."

Quinn had stolen a glance at Santana, seeing the way the girl's face had darkened, and how she scowled at the blonde girl who had been her friend since she was three.

"No, I'm not," Quinn said.

"You will be."

"_No_, I _won't_."

Apparently, Coach Sylvester had never heard the word _no_, and what had followed was thirty minutes of arguing. Or thirty minutes of Coach Sylvester "fucking losing her shit," as Santana termed it: banging on her desk with her fist, hollering that she could make Quinn's life a living hell if she didn't comply, and various other things that Quinn had just tuned out.

And in the end, maybe she'd never be on the high end of the popularity spectrum, like she could be if she were with the Cheerios; but the Fabray family name carried its own weight at William McKinley, as did a childhood friendship with Santana Lopez. So Quinn Fabray had walked out of Coach Sylvester's office without a uniform, and into the high school hierarchy with her dignity intact.

Rachel Berry hadn't been so lucky, not in the dignity department.

Quinn marveled at how the girl always came to school with her head held high, knowing full well that within thirty seconds of walking in the door she was either going to be shoved into a locker, hurled into a dumpster, or doused with whatever the flavor of the day was in the slushie machine. At first Quinn had laughed along with the others, seeing the ice dripping all over Rachel's face and onto the hideous owl sweaters or sky blue pantsuits.

But one day it wasn't the ice she saw dripping down Rachel's face, but tears, mingling with the colored corn syrup, and Quinn stopped laughing.

On the totem pole that was William McKinley High School's hierarchy, having two gay dads _might_ land you somewhere in the middle.

Having two gay dads, terrible fashion sense, an unhealthy (Quinn thought) addiction to Barbra Streisand, the obnoxious desire to be the best at everything, _and_ the voice of an angel?

Rachel was never going to be higher than the bottom.

The Cheerios, the jocks, they were the girl's worst tormentors. And Quinn might have been popular, she might have been able to have her pick of any boyfriend, or any girl for a friend, in that school, but she wasn't going to play a part in dragging someone down. She'd managed to get Santana, and Brittany, by proxy, to stop their own mistreatment of Rachel. Santana Lopez didn't usually listen to anyone, but having been friends with someone since you were three breeds a certain sort of loyalty, even if it came at the expense of her not being able to pick on the school's own social pariah. Still, Santana wouldn't call off the other Cheerios or the jocks; she had her reputation to protect – not to mention Brittany's, and Quinn knew it.

Quinn's own desire to protect Rachel in some way also didn't lean towards her being best friends with the girl. They shared classes together and hung out sometimes at lunch (which Santana hated), but that was it.

Plus, there was that little matter of her father forbidding any sort of contact with Rachel. Quinn was already treading dangerous water simply by _talking_ to her.

Their circles weren't meant to converge.

Things were looking up for Rachel in her junior year, anyway, if Finn Hudson was any indication. She knew Rachel had crushed hard on the boy since middle school, and he was good to her, if a little stupid. Quinn was too involved in her own on again, off again relationship with Puck to really pay attention.

Almost as if Rachel could hear Quinn's train of thought, she said quickly, "Noah's auditioned already. He got accepted yesterday."

"What? He didn't tell me that."

"Probably because he thought you'd tell him no."

"I would have," Quinn snapped, her head reeling with the knowledge that her football star boyfriend suddenly wanted to _sing_. "It's a stupid club."

Rachel pursed her lips. "Why, thank you, Quinn, I appreciate your support." She sighed and shook her head.

"Look, we need 12 members if we're going to be able to compete at sectionals. So I'm asking you. Please?"

The glee club was a new development at WMHS. They'd recently hired a new Spanish teacher, Schuester, who seemed to spend more time gelling his hair than he did teaching conjugation and gender agreement. But then he'd got the wild idea that what the school really needed was a club. And not just any club, but a club for _singers_.

Rachel had been the first one to sign up. Of course.

Finn had been quick to follow, because, well, it was what he did: follow Rachel around like a lovesick puppy. It was cute, really.

Just like it was cute that Rachel only came up to his belt buckle.

Quinn had mentioned that to her once, an evil glint in her eye – earning her a punch in the arm. That was when she'd learned it was best not to ever piss off Rachel Berry.

"I can't sing," Quinn protested.

"Nonsense," Rachel said, turning up her nose. "I've heard you sing."

"What? When?"

"Uh…" Rachel flushed. "Well, um…"

"Berry," Quinn said warningly.

"Last year, in the showers after gym class when I had to come back because I'd left my day planner inside the locker room," Rachel rushed out.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Rachel _Cullen_. Who knew?"

She turned to Rachel as they stood outside their Spanish class. "What's in it for me if I join?"

Rachel tilted her head, her tongue poking out of her lips as she thought. "I'll… come to a meeting of the Celibacy Club!" She decided brightly.

Quinn gave her a look. "Planning on being tempted, Rachel?"

"I'm a seventeen-year-old female with a healthy libido, Quinn. And now that I have a boyfriend, it only stands to reason that either one of us might be tempted to take our kissing to the next level. After all, it's natural for teenage boys and girls to be aroused during such con—"

"Okay, okay," Quinn interrupted. "You grossed me out at 'aroused.'"

Rachel shot Quinn her own knowing look. "Like you're one to talk about not giving in to temptation, anyway, Quinn Fabray."

She sighed. A month ago, she and Rachel had somehow gotten into a discussion over lunch that had ended up with Quinn spilling the beans about her night with Puck. She was grateful that Rachel hadn't judged. She'd simply asked if Quinn was all right and if they'd used protection, then moved on.

"Touché. When are the auditions?"

Rachel smiled triumphantly. "Today at three-thirty in the band slash now choir room. Don't be late."

She opened the door to the Spanish room and held it open for Quinn, still smiling.

Quinn leaned closer to Rachel and smirked. "Celibacy Club meets on Thursdays during the study period. Don't be late with your _healthy libido_, Berry."

Rachel only smirked in return.


	3. Chapter 2

At three-twenty-five Quinn stood outside of the band room and took a deep breath. She was just about to turn around and walk off, but a voice stopped her.

"Don't even think about it."

"Rachel," she said exasperatedly. "This stalking thing has got to stop."

"I'm not stalking you," Rachel said. "I'm helping Mr. Schuester with the auditions."

"Oh." Quinn nodded, swallowing hard. "I really can't sing, Rachel."

"So you can't sing," Rachel shrugged. "You audition, we say no, you go home. The end."

"It'd save your eardrums if I _just_ _didn't_ _sing_."

Rachel rolled her eyes and pushed Quinn aside to open the door.

"Just come on. I promise it'll be okay."

She really wanted to just run, but Rachel had reached out and squeezed her hand, and for some reason, Quinn nodded again and followed her.

And stopped dead inside the room.

"Brittany? _Santana_?"

Santana glared at Quinn and pointed at Brittany, her expression clearly saying _it was her idea_.

The tall blonde cheerleader waved happily at Quinn, her head planted securely on Santana's shoulder.

Quinn just giggled. No one could say no to Brittany, not even Santana. _Especially_ not Santana. They'd been dating ever since freshman year, even when Quinn had told them that she thought what they were doing was sinful.

Well, she'd told Santana. She'd never say that to Brittany. Everyone knew that Brittany with the unpronounceable last name was a little dim, but Santana Lopez would kick anyone's ass if they dared to voice that. And Brittany had the biggest heart of anyone that Quinn had ever known.

But it was what she'd been taught. It was what her parents had told her and her sister, over and over. Men and women were meant to be together, not men and men or women and women.

_God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve_.

She hated that damn saying with a passion.

But she knew it was right, even if it had erupted into the biggest argument she'd ever had with Santana, resulting in a two-month standoff until _Brittany_ had exploded, and had threatened to stop being friends with both of them.

For Brittany's sake, Quinn had backed off.

"Everyone ready to get started?" Schuester exclaimed, with a lot more enthusiasm than necessary, once everyone had taken a chair on the risers.

"What's Rupaul doing here?" Santana asked.

"Rupaul?" Schuester seemed confused.

"She's talking about me," Rachel explained, with absolutely no animosity in her voice. She spoke of it as easily as if she was ordering dinner. "And to answer your question, Santana, I think it will become readily apparent, once glee club has garnered some notoriety at this school, that I am its star, and therefore, I am the most qualified to assist Mr. Schuester in discovering those with lesser, though adequate, talent."

"Yeah, I'm out," Santana muttered, and started to get up, but Brittany reached up and grabbed her hand. She smiled at Santana, and the girl sunk back into her chair with a groan. She glanced at Quinn as if to say "help me," but Quinn smirked.

So the Cheerios captain settled for mouthing "traitor" instead.

"All right, then," Mr. Schuester said, a little surprised by Rachel's speech, "who'd like to go first?"

"Quinn would."

Now Quinn glared at Santana, who blew her a kiss.

"Excellent," Rachel said, smiling broadly. "Quinn? What have you selected to sing?"

Oh, _crap_. She hadn't _selected_ anything.

She turned a pair of helpless eyes to Rachel, and somehow Rachel understood.

"Just sing a song you like, Quinn. But you have to come up here."

"Up _there_?" Quinn squeaked. "In front of everyone?"

"Well, it is an audition," Schuester supplied, and she wanted to punch him.

Him _and_ Rachel.

Sighing heavily, she made her way to the front of the room and stood by the piano. Santana was grinning at her, clearly enjoying her discomfort, and if she wasn't a Christian, Quinn would have flipped her off.

And loved it.

Instead, she settled for frantically searching her mind for a song to sing. She didn't listen to much pop music; her father wasn't a fan of the latest "secular music," so when she was at home she usually just listened to the Christian rock that he approved of. And yeah, she might blast hip hop in her car while on her way to school, but something told Quinn that "All the Above" perhaps wasn't the best song to sing at a Glee audition.

Even if Santana would be highly amused by Quinn calling herself "a soldier, a rider, a ghetto survivor."

So when Quinn finally hit upon a song to sing, it was something that her mother used to sing to her father, both of them laughing as they danced together in the parlor.

Taking a deep breath, clasping her hands behind her back so no one would notice she was shaking, she began to sing.

_Tonight you're mine completely_

_You give your love so sweetly_

_Tonight the light of love is in your eyes_

_But will you love me tomorrow?_

_Is this a lasting treasure?_

_Or just a moment's pleasure?_

_Can I believe the magic of your sighs?_

_Will you still love me tomorrow?_

_Tonight with words unspoken_

_You say that I'm the only one_

_But will my heart be broken_

_When the night meets the morning sun?_

She trailed off then, noticing that Schuester had raised his hand to stop her.

Sighing, Quinn shook her head and sat down. Thank god that was over.

"Rachel?" Schuester queried, looking at her.

Quinn just stared at her shoes.

"I think there's no question," Rachel said.

Good. Now she could go.

"Perfect," Mr. Schuester said. "Quinn, practices are every Monday and Wednesday at three."

"Wait, _what_?" She said before she could stop herself. She looked up.

Rachel was smiling at her, and Schuester was nodding.

Quinn groaned inwardly.

She'd just been drafted into the _glee club_.

_Great_.

She stayed and listened, though, as Santana and Brittany sang their way into the club with a definitely passable version of _I Say a Little Prayer_, even if they accentuated it with more hip-wiggling than was decent. Quinn knew that she was looking at Santana with something a lot like surprise, but the girl just shrugged and pointed at Brittany again. Brittany, for her part, looked ecstatic, and Quinn could only smile.

Maybe glee club wouldn't turn out to be _too_ bad. She hoped.

Still, after auditions had ended, she didn't bother waiting for Rachel, just gave the girl a quick wave and headed off to find her boyfriend.

"So, when were you going to tell me?" Quinn said, once she found him at his locker.

"Hello to you too, babe," he said, slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her in for a kiss.

"Tell you about what?"

"Glee club."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, Puck, _that_. You're a football player; why on earth do you want to be a part of the cretin crew?"

"The what?"

"The club, Puck, the _club!_" Quinn said, nearly throwing up her hands.

"I like to sing," he shrugged. "And the world shouldn't be deprived of Puckzilla's voice. Or other things." He grabbed his crotch and thrust it at her a couple of times.

"Ugh, stop it," she mumbled.

"Come on, baby, it's been weeks," he whispered, ducking his head to kiss her neck, just where it met her shoulder.

"Don't you want me inside you again?"

"I'm not ready, Puck," she said, feeling that familiar dread slide, cold like ice water, into her belly.

"You were ready the first time," he leered. "Minus your whole _problem_."

_God, Quinn, what does it take to get you wet? This'll hurt if we can't get you going a little bit_.

"God, you're so vulgar," Quinn snapped, pulling herself out of his grasp. She sighed, then leaned forward and kissed him; only briefly, but it was enough to make him waggle his eyebrows at her.

"I still want to know why you joined."

He shrugged again, tucking his hands into the pockets of his sports jacket. "I like to sing," he said again. "I'm not just a jock, Quinn. And anyway, _you_ auditioned."

She felt herself flush, and she occupied herself with twisting the fabric of her white baby doll dress in her hands. "Rachel asked me to."

"So did you get in?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"You could've said no."

"I _know_," she said forcefully.

"So why didn't you?"

"Puck, just go home," she said. "I have to leave anyway; I forgot to tell my dad I was auditioning and he'll be pissed if I'm not home soon."

She hadn't forgotten. She'd chosen not to call and tell him. But now that she was _in_ that damn _club_, Quinn would have to, especially if they'd be taking "field trips," as Rachel termed them, to competitions.

Just as she walked away, she squeaked when a large, not-very-gentle hand grabbed her ass and squeezed.

Quinn knew that it was supposed to cause some sort of reaction in her. She'd watched Puck with the other girls, how they fawned over him, practically threw themselves at him. Even Santana, before she'd figured out that she was, as she put it, "totally gay for a Dutch girl."

But for Quinn?

All she felt was a hand, somewhere she didn't want.

That night, Quinn helped her mother set the table, sitting in her seat next to her father only after the last platter had been placed. He smiled at her and at her mother; they joined hands and bowed their heads.

"Heavenly Father," Mr. Fabray prayed, "thank you for this food, and bless the hands that prepared it. Father, we ask that you bless this food to our use, and bless us to your service. Help us to always remember the needs of others. In Jesus' Name we pray, amen."

"Amen," Mrs. Fabray said, echoed by her daughter.

Mr. Fabray served himself first, then his wife, and at last his daughter. Handing her the plate, he smiled again at her.

"And how's school doing, my little miss Quinn?"

"Really well, daddy," she replied. "I got an A on my last Spanish test, so I was happy. It was harder than the others have been."

Mostly because Schuester didn't know how to teach at all.

"Excellent," he beamed at her. "Anything else?"

She took a deep breath and mentally steeled herself. "Actually… yes, daddy. I joined a new club."

Her father's fork paused halfway to his mouth, and he set it down on his plate. "Oh?"

Quinn shot a look at her mother, who just smiled and nodded encouragingly. "Yes, sir. I would have told you earlier today but it kind of happened so fast. Noah invited me to join the glee club after school."

One little white lie couldn't hurt, right?

Her father had thrown a fit when she'd started officially dating Puck, because he'd been dead set on her dating a Christian boy, but he'd calmed down when Judy Fabray had for once stepped in, reminding him that Quinn was only 17, this was her first boyfriend, and she _was_ the president of the Celibacy Club.

Quinn was only just now starting to feel like a hypocrite over that.

"The glee club, huh?" Her father picked up his fork and resumed eating. "I'm assuming there won't be anything in this club that could damage your reputation?"

_And the family name?_ Quinn knew her father wanted to add.

She shook her head. "No, daddy. We just have practices twice a week, and if we're any good, we might be able to go to a competition or two. But we're new," she added hastily, in response to his raised eyebrow. "So I don't know if we'll be good enough to win any competitions."

"Well, if you're part of it, I don't see why you wouldn't win."

Quinn flushed pink, both at the compliment and the relief that she had Russell Fabray's permission.

"Thank you, daddy," she said, jumping up momentarily to hug him and press a kiss to his cheek. He laughed and just patted the small of her back.

"Who else is in the glee club?" Mrs. Fabray asked.

She considered her words carefully. "Well, there's Noah, Finn Hudson, and Santana and Brittany. Plus a couple of other people I haven't met yet."

"What about Rachel Berry?"

_Everyone_ knew that Rachel never passed up an opportunity to sing.

Quinn felt the weight of that question crash down on her like a pile of bricks. She took a deep breath.

"I think so. I don't talk to her, though."

Maybe _two_ white lies weren't so bad.

So Quinn was grateful when her father changed the subject.

"There's going to be revival at the church in about a month. Pastor Samuel has asked me to be a lay minister for one of the services. Can I count on my two best girls to be there?"

Mrs. Fabray smiled, and Quinn nodded. The family settled into their usual silent dinner, even though Quinn didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

It was the first time she'd ever really lied to her father.


	4. Chapter 3

When Quinn, followed by a very reluctant Puck, made it to room 104 a few minutes after study period had begun the following Thursday, Rachel was already there waiting, along with Finn. Brittany and Santana were there, also; not that they _wanted_ to be, but because Quinn had begged them when the school year had started, knowing that hardly anyone would show up. But somehow they'd even managed to drag some other Cheerios along this time.

Jacob ben Israel was there as well, but only because he'd spent the better halves of middle and high school trying to get into Rachel's pants. Quinn tried not to glare at him… and failed miserably.

"Hi, everyone," she said, smiling and placing her bible on the table at the front of the room. "Thanks for coming." She hoisted herself up onto the table and grinned at Rachel, who was watching her with a mixture of interest – and mocking.

"I think that we should open today's meeting with a prayer. So, let's pray."

Even Jewish Rachel, Jacob, and Puck bowed their heads, though Puck and Rachel left their eyes open. (So did Quinn, just so she could keep those eyes on the two people she knew would just love to be troublemakers. One of whom happened to be her boyfriend.)

"Heavenly Father," Quinn prayed aloud, starting out the way her father always did. "Thank you for allowing us all to be here today. We ask that you be with us during this meeting hour, and we ask that you help us to remember that our bodies are temples only for you, and for the one you've intended for us. And please help us to remain pure in not just our actions, but in our thoughts. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

"Amen!" Brittany said loudly, and Santana shushed her.

Quinn cleared her throat, shooting a warning glance at the Cheerios captain, who just grinned, her eyes glinting evilly.

"Okay, well," Quinn said uncertainly, "perhaps today we'll look at some bible verses that talk about the need to remain pure, and how sexual love is something that is meant to be expressed only within marriage… between a man and a woman."

She didn't dare look at Brittany and Santana – or Rachel. Instead, she just turned slightly so that she could pick up her bible.

"Excuse me, Quinn?"

_Oh, crap._

"Yes, Rachel?"

Good grief, she even had her hand raised. She lowered it, though, when Quinn called on her, and smiled.

"Did you know that one of the books of the bible contains some of the most poetic and erotic passages about love and sex ever written?"

"What?" Quinn squeaked, her cheeks beginning to feel hot.

"It's true," Rachel nodded. "Song of Solomon."

"Uh… huh," Quinn said slowly. "Well, I think perhaps today we might look at some passages from, um, Proverbs. Or perhaps First Corinthians."

"Wait a minute," Puck said, looking at Rachel. "I want to know about this erotic stuff."

He grinned, and even Rachel rolled her eyes. She stood up and walked over to Quinn, holding out her hand.

"May I?"

Quinn looked at Rachel, down at her bible, and back at Rachel.

Rachel took her hesitation as a sign of acquiescence, and lifted the bible out of her hands, quickly turning the pages.

"Now," she said firmly, "as far as romance goes, Song of Solomon is simply _gorgeous_. It describes the love that one _person_," she gazed at Quinn pointedly, "has for another. For instance, chapter eight, verse six states…"

She glanced down. "Oh, you use the King James version. Some say it's highly inaccurate, but, no matter. Chapter eight, verse six. 'Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.'"

She smiled up at them. "Isn't that just beautiful? And of course, there is 'I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine,' which I believe is popular in many wedding ceremonies, is it not, Quinn?"

"Enough of the romantic sh—stuff. Can we, like, get to the sex?" Santana asked, her smile widening as Quinn fumed.

"Well, there are several verses that are quite erotic," Rachel explained. "I've researched it on the internet."

"Of course you have," Quinn said through gritted teeth, trying to snatch back her bible, but Rachel held fast, turning more pages.

"'A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts,'" Rachel read, and smiled when Brittany giggled.

Quinn resolved right then to kill Rachel as soon as possible.

"In Solomon eight, verse three, we have 'His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me,' which some scholars believe alludes to a woman being fingered."

Even Santana's mouth dropped open.

Rachel was oblivious to Quinn's blazing eyes, the set, thin line of her lips, as she continued on.

"But," she mused, "I think my favorite passages are also the ones that the scholars have decided are the most erotic, such as chapter 2, verse 3: 'I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.' There is speculation that this is describing… well, for lack of a more _biblical_ term, oral sex, for the male."

Quinn made a noise that was somewhere between a strangled moan and a growl, and to Rachel's left, Finn was muttering something that sounded distinctly like "mailman… mailman…"

Puck, on the other hand, was leaned back in the desk, one eyebrow arched, his mouth turned up in a grin that was directed at Quinn.

She chose to ignore him, mostly because Rachel was _still speaking_.

"And then we have chapter four, verse 16: ' Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.' Of course, _this_ seems to be indicative of satisfying the _female_ orally."

"Santana ate my fruits once."

"Brittany!" Santana said quickly, and the blonde girl shrugged at her.

"Okay!" Quinn actually clapped her hands and ripped her bible away from Rachel. "That's enough for today. Thanks for co—um, being here, everyone, and we'll see you next week."

One by one they filed out, Finn still mumbling under his breath, Puck with a newfound swagger as he kissed Quinn's cheek, saying, "Yeah, I'll definitely be back if you let _Berry_ run the meetings some more. Damn."

Rachel was the last to leave, but before she could even move, Quinn had slammed the door, trapping both of them in the room, and rounded on her with pure, unadulterated _fury_.

Rachel had the decency to look terrified. "Q-Quinn?"

"What were you _doing_?" the taller girl hissed. "Do you think this is _funny_?"

"What?" Rachel said, now looking confused. "No, of course not. I just thought in a meeting for a club devoted to celibacy, it would be nice to show that the bible is actually rather open to passionate, erotic love between two people."

"Song of Solomon is talking about the love _Christ_ has for his _church_, Berry!" Quinn snapped.

Rachel tilted her head. "Who told you that?" she asked.

Now it was Quinn's turn to look confused. "What?"

"I mean, I know that that is a commonly held view among many Christians," Rachel said quietly. "But I personally believe in researching alternate points of view, as well."

"Do you?" Quinn asked sarcastically, slamming her bible on the table with a thump and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Of course I do," Rachel said. "I mean, don't you? You don't just blindly follow what you've been told, do you?"

She seriously was going to hit Rachel if this conversation kept going. Quinn rubbed a hand over her forehead and took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. She fisted that same hand around the gold cross that dangled from her neck.

"Rachel," she said softly, but evenly, "my father and my pastor have taught me that Song of Solomon is about the love that Jesus Christ has for us, his church. And I believe them."

Rachel nodded. "I feel sorry for you, then." The words came out harsher than she'd intended, and she opened her mouth to apologize.

Quinn exploded. "What the hell is your problem, Berry? Did you _like_ coming here to purposely embarrass me?"

Rachel's face darkened.

"It seems to me that you're only embarrassed because I've presented you with a way of thinking that contradicts your _father_ and your _pastor_ and that _scares_ you, Quinn."

"Scares me?" she laughed. "I am not _scared_ by your stupidity, Berry."

Quinn felt momentarily guilty when Rachel winced and looked down at her feet. She noticed that the small girl's hands had fisted at her sides.

But when Rachel glanced back up and met Quinn's eyes, her own were cold.

"I will not stand here and be insulted by you," she said. "I'm sorry that I embarrassed you. I'm sorry that you feel frightened and ashamed by the things I said in this meeting today. But more than anything, I'm surprised that I, a _Jewish_ girl, Quinn, am more open to learning about Christianity and the bible than _you_ are."

Quinn was stunned, and Rachel took the opportunity to cross the floor to the door of the classroom. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned.

"I thought you were different, Quinn," Rachel said gently. "I thought you had a mind of your own. I'm sorry I was mistaken."

She walked out then, leaving Quinn alone to stare after her, open-mouthed, wondering what the hell had just happened between her and Rachel Berry. 


	5. Chapter 4

After the incident during the Celibacy Club meeting, Rachel started completely ignoring Quinn.

She no longer walked with Quinn to their Spanish class. She sat by herself in the lunch room, since she and Finn didn't share the same lunch period, or she didn't come to the lunch room at all. A couple of times Quinn had caught her eye while they were both at their respective lockers, but as soon as she did, Rachel just grabbed her books, slammed her locker shut, and walked off.

Though Quinn tried to play it off with little snide jokes about Rachel to Brittany and Santana, in truth, she was hurt both by Rachel ignoring her, and by what she had said that day.

She _did_ have a mind of her own. She didn't just blindly accept what her father or pastor told her. Even though… well, even though they were the only ones who had taught her, since she was a baby. It's just… it's what you _did_, in the Fabray family. She knew that a lot of families weren't like hers, where the father made all the decisions about what church to go to, what music to listen to or what movies to see – even what college to attend, which Abigail Fabray quickly found out when she had wanted to go to Wellesley.

She was now unhappily (she told her baby sister) ensconced at Liberty University, which was the only college her father had approved.

Quinn hadn't even dared to ask her father about her own college plans. She was afraid of what she knew the answer would be.

But it was the only way she knew. It was what _good girls_ were supposed to do, wasn't it?

Go to school and get good grades. Go to church every Sunday and Wednesday. Be your daddy's girl, until you found the man God had made for you, and he put that ring on your finger – _after_ he asked your daddy's permission.

After that? Raise your own children the exact same way.

And yeah, she'd messed up, with Puck. But she'd prayed for forgiveness, and she was pretty sure she'd gotten it.

They hadn't done anything but kiss since, even though Puck kept reminding her he wanted more.

But there were other things too, about the way Quinn had lived her life up to this seventeen-year point, things that she wasn't sure anyone else would understand.

The belief in something higher, the knowledge that there was something out there bigger than herself. And yes, a lot of times God seemed harsh and punishing, but there were other times, when she was scared of things like growing up, that it was good to know that no matter how things changed, no matter who might come and go in her life, God would always be there for Quinn.

For Rachel to insult Quinn's life, the faith that was so important to her? It _hurt_.

Beyond the hurt though, was something else, something Quinn hadn't expected.

She _missed_ Rachel.

Because even though they weren't _best_ friends or anything, it was nice having her around. Rachel could be extremely obnoxious, but she could also be terribly sweet. Things like bringing a Reese's for lunch, even though she was vegan. Because she knew Quinn's mother was always on her about her weight, and Rachel had just said, the first time she'd handed one to her, "You don't have anything to worry about, Juliet," which had made Quinn smile, and blush a little.

Spanish was boring for Quinn, and every so often she'd be sitting there with her chin propped up on her hand, staring off into space, and she'd hear her cell phone buzz. She'd flip it open only to see a text with one of Rachel's notoriously bad jokes.

_**Hey, Quinn - **_

_**Do you want to hear the joke about the broken pencil?**_

_**No? Oh well, there was no point to it, anyway.**_

_***heart* – R**_

She'd snort and try hard not to laugh, even with Rachel giggling quietly behind her.

She tried not to wonder why Rachel signed all of her texts to Quinn with a heart.

Rachel hadn't sent her any jokes in two weeks, and Spanish class was _really_ boring.

But as much as she missed Rachel, she was still hurt. And there was something else that the Fabray family held dear, and that was _pride_.

She didn't really understand that, because wasn't pride sinful? Too much of it, anyway. But her father had drilled it into both Quinn and Abbie that when someone wounds you, you wait until they apologize first.

"Fabrays never show weakness," he said. "Weakness is only for the lesser of us."

In the back of her mind Quinn thought her father's mantra wasn't right, that it didn't necessarily fit with the humility she'd been taught in church.

But the other thing she'd been taught? Never question Russell Fabray.

Then there was the realization that as angry as Quinn was, Rachel Berry was angrier.

And glee with Rachel angry at her?

It really sucked.

She was pretty sure that Rachel's growling rendition of Katy Perry's Hot N Cold was directed at her, especially since Rachel was staring straight at her when she'd sang "_you_ PMS like a _bitch_, I should know."

That had resulted in Quinn almost running out of the choir room and deciding to never come back. Only Brittany's questioning look when she'd squirmed, and Santana's smirk, had held her to her seat.

So when Rachel didn't show up in the lunch room again, the next Monday, Quinn muttered "screw lunch," and went in search of her friend.

She headed to the only place that she knew Rachel felt comfortable in, and Quinn smiled a little when she heard her friend's voice echoing from within the choir room.

But her brow furrowed when she heard another voice. A distinctly male one.

Finn.

"I really want to, Rachel. I care about you."

He sounded sweet, and Quinn smiled. She was glad. Rachel really deserved someone who could treat her better than any of her other classmates ever had.

But when Rachel spoke, her voice wasn't sweet. It sounded nervous, doubtful.

"Finn, I care about you too, but… I'm not ready for sex yet."

Oh.

Quinn blinked once, twice.

_Oh._

"But we've been dating for a few months," Finn said. "And I really… I think I could make it special for you."

"I know." There was softness in Rachel's voice now, even with the uncertainty of her tone.

Quinn realized she was eavesdropping, and turned to go.

"But I just can't."

Then Quinn realized she was _really_ interested in what Rachel had to say.

"And besides," Rachel said, her voice sounding stronger. "You know you do have a bit of a problem with… certain things, Finn. I just think it will be best to wait until we can get that under control."

Quinn leaned against the wall next to the door, arms crossed over her chest and her brow furrowed.

Finn had a problem?

Whatever his problem was, it had better not hurt Rachel.

Now Quinn was chewing on her lower lip, wondering she suddenly felt like busting into the choir room and punching Finn Hudson.

Well, she told herself, she and Rachel were friends. And friends cared about each other.

Especially where idiotic, lumbering boyfriends were concerned.

"Okay," she heard Finn sigh. "I just want to be able to show how much I care about you, Rachel."

"I know," Rachel said, and Quinn could hear that she was smiling. "But a relationship is more than sex, Finn. Anyway, you need to go. You shouldn't skip class just to talk to me, and I want to practice before glee."

"Okay," Finn said. There was silence, and Quinn assumed they were kissing.

When she heard the door open, she darted into the doorway of another empty classroom, shrinking back until Finn walked down the hall, and she was sure she hadn't been seen.

Quinn started to go inside the choir room, when the sound of piano chords filled her ears. Not wanting to disturb her friend, she leaned back against the wall and listened.

_I've been alone with you inside my mind  
And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times  
I sometimes see you pass outside my door  
Hello, is it me you're looking for?  
I can see it in your eyes  
I can see it in your smile  
You're all I've ever wanted, and my arms are open wide  
'Cause you know just what to say  
And you know just what to do  
And I want to tell you so much, I love you ..._

Quinn had always thought Rachel's voice was magical, but there was something different about the way her friend was singing _this_ song, not like she was trying to crash the rafters down among them. Very carefully, Quinn peeked inside the choir room, and she understood why Rachel's voice was so quiet.

She was crying. Quinn could see the smaller girl's shoulders trembling.

It sent a peculiar wave of achiness into her heart, and Quinn pursed her lips together, nodding her head. She needed to talk to Rachel.

But not now, not while the girl was crying.

Quinn wasn't ready to admit she had been eavesdropping on such an intimate conversation. Especially if she didn't even know how to admit _why_.

Luckily for Quinn – and unluckily for Rachel – the social hierarchy of William McKinley High School provided the perfect opportunity for Quinn to talk to her friend, just before second period chemistry the next day.

She had just rounded the corner to put her books in her locker when, almost out of her line of sight, Quinn saw Karofsky and Azimio walking towards Rachel, an extra-large slushie in their hands. She also saw Santana, standing about three feet away from Rachel; the Cheerio turned and caught Quinn's eye, lifting her shoulders with an apologetic look on her face.

_Splash_.

Followed by a gasp, a squeak, and then… laughter.

The flavor of the day was lime; Rachel had once confided in Quinn that it was her least favorite.

Growling to herself, Quinn practically threw her books into her locker and slammed it shut, then made her way over to Rachel, who still hadn't moved, the remnants of two slushies still dripping off her face and onto the floor.

"Rachel?"

She blinked, then raised her hands to wipe the corn syrup out of her eyes.

"Why can't they just leave me alone?"

For once, Quinn saw that Rachel Berry's resolve had cracked. She gently wrapped her fingers around Rachel's arm, walking her towards her own locker.

"Do you have a change of clothes?"

"Of course I do," Rachel muttered. "It's been a necessity for the last four years, Quinn."

"Okay," she said softly. "Grab your clothes and I'll help you get cleaned up."

"You don't have to."

"I know. I want to."

Rachel regarded her with something like suspicion, but said nothing. She just grabbed a plastic bag filled with another set of clothes, shampoo, and a hairdryer.

Once they hit the bathroom, Rachel hesitated. Quinn peered around her and she saw Santana now standing at the mirror, applying her makeup with Brittany and some other Cheerios. Rachel cringed when the cheerleaders laughed.

Quinn noticed that Brittany and Santana weren't laughing.

Seeing her opportunity, she stepped inside the bathroom, hands on her hips, and regarded the girls in their crimson and black.

"Out," she said, loudly.

Rachel squeaked and made to back out the door.

"Not _you_, man hands," Santana sighed, shaking her head. She glared at her teammates and tipped her chin towards the door.

"You heard Quinn. Out."

They hesitated, then hastened out, not wanting to face the Latina's wrath. On her way behind them, Santana punched Quinn's arm, none too lightly, but she was grinning a little. Quinn just smirked.

Once she was alone with Rachel, she swiftly locked the door to the bathroom so they wouldn't be disturbed.

Rachel, for her part, wasn't moving, just staring down at the green slush pooling on the floor at her feet. Quinn sighed and took the bag from her hands and looked inside. No towel. Okay.

She ripped a handful of paper towels from the holder, then came back to stand in front of Rachel.

"Lift your head up for me?" she asked gently.

"Why?"

"So I can get the slush off?"

"No, I mean, why do you _care_?"

"Berry, come on," she sighed. "You can't stand here in slushie all day; you'll get a cold or something. Just let's dry your face off, and then I'll leave you alone so you can wash your hair and change."

"It'd be easier if you'd help," Rachel said numbly.

"Okay, then."

She wrung out Rachel's hair as best she could, dabbed the paper towels gently over the girl's face, neck, and ears, trying to wipe off the green syrup. Rachel was shivering with goose bumps rising on her skin, and Quinn sighed.

She hated being a popular girl at that moment, but was glad for it at the same time.

She knew she wouldn't have the strength Rachel did, to face it _every single day_.

"We should probably wash your hair first before you change," Quinn suggested.

Rachel nodded. "It's what I usually do."

Quinn nodded in return, then pulled the folding chair over to the sink, patting the seat of it with a smile.

Rachel was regarding her warily, and she looked adorably vulnerable, with soaked hair and that hideous horse sweater stained with green. But she sat down, wincing a little when she leaned back and her neck hit the cold edge of the sink.

"I'm sorry I don't have a towel to make it more comfortable," Quinn apologized, turning on the tap and using her hand to shield Rachel from the water until it warmed.

"It's fine. I had one, but I forgot to bring it back after… last time."

They fell into silence, then, with Quinn gently wetting Rachel's long dark hair, and then lathering in Rachel's shampoo, which smelled like green apple, and she smiled. At some point Rachel sighed contently and Quinn jumped, realizing that she'd been massaging the smaller girl's scalp with her fingernails. She quickly set about the task of actually _washing_ Rachel's hair, again trying to wring out most of the wetness with the paper towels.

Plugging in the hairdryer, she moved to switch it on, but Rachel's hand on her wrist stopped her.

"I can do that," she said quietly. "You don't have to."

"I don't mind," Quinn shrugged.

"Okay. Quinn?"

"Yes, Rachel?"

"I'm sorry. About the meeting. I didn't mean to make you angry."

Quinn sighed. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have snapped at you, and I definitely should not have called you stupid."

"I am, though."

"You are not!" Quinn said hotly. She shook her head and turned on the hairdryer, sitting carefully on Rachel's lap.

She noticed Rachel looking at her oddly, but the other girl said nothing, just let Quinn run her fingers through her hair as she dried it slowly. Finally finished, Quinn unplugged the hairdryer and rested it on the edge of the sink.

"Glad you unplugged it first," Rachel joked, gesturing towards the proximity of the hairdryer to her head.

"I can still smack you with it." Quinn raised an eyebrow threateningly at Rachel, but the smile betrayed her.

Rachel grinned. "Quinn?"

"Hm?"

"Can I make it up to you?"

"Make what up to me?"

"The meeting."

"Oh, that. You don't have to make anything up to me."

"I want to."

"What do you have in mind?"

Rachel pursed her lips, looking suddenly shy. "Well… I've never had a friend over. To my house, I mean. So I thought perhaps you'd like to have a sleepover? Maybe next Tuesday?"

Now Quinn's smile threatened to split her face. "I'd like that, Rachel."

Rachel practically clapped her hands. "Wonderful. I'll tell my dads, and I'll finalize the plans with you later on the week."

She was making it sound like they were engaging in a business deal, and Quinn could only shake her head.

"But now I think I need to change my clothes, and we might need to go to class," Rachel said, again looking at Quinn oddly.

"Okay?" Quinn agreed, her brow furrowed.

"Well, um… you see, it's going to be hard for me to get up to change my clothes… with you sitting on my lap," Rachel said hesitantly.

Quinn sucked in a breath. Glancing down, she saw that yes indeed, she was still sitting in Rachel's lap. Quite comfortably, due to the fact that her dress had ridden up slightly, and now her bare thighs were tucked warmly against _Rachel's_ bare thighs, because _her_ skirt was bunched up.

She went to get up, but was stopped, because not only was she sitting on Rachel's lap, Rachel's hands were around her waist.

"Um, Rachel?" Quinn gestured towards her hands.

"Oh!" Rachel jerked away and stood up so quickly Quinn was unceremoniously dumped onto the bathroom floor.

"Ow," Quinn said, but when she glanced up and saw Rachel's horrified look, she couldn't do anything but laugh.

"Why am I so _awkward_?" Rachel huffed, leaning down and grabbing Quinn's hand, pulling her to her feet.

"It's part of your charm?" Quinn suggested, dusting herself off.

Rachel grinned. "If you say so."

Quinn smiled back. "I'll let you get dressed. See you in Spanish class, Berry."

She left Rachel in the bathroom, then, wondering why that smile stayed on her face all through the next period.

Halfway through Spanish, Quinn's phone buzzed. She flipped it open.

**Hey, Quinn. What's Mary short for? **

Quinn shook her head and typed back, keeping one eye on Schuester, in the front of the room.

_**No idea.**_

Seconds later, another buzz.

**She's got no legs. *heart* – R**

Mr. Schuester actually glared at Quinn and told her that if she couldn't stop laughing she could go see Principal Figgins. She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled, and rolled her eyes at the quiet snicker she heard behind her.


	6. Chapter 5

Her panties were on the floor again.

Puck's finger was inside her; Quinn hoped she was moaning the way she was supposed to.

He swiped his thumb roughly over her clit. She glanced up at the picture above her bed.

"You feel so good… I can't wait until I—"

"Puck, stop."

She shoved weakly against his shoulders. "I can't."

"Sure you can," he said, his voice just as smooth as the first time. "Let me grab a condom, and I'll show you what I can do."

He smirked at her.

"Puck, please. I don't want to."

His finger left her, not gently, and he wiped it on her sheets, sighing in frustration. Reaching down, he picked up her panties and tossed them onto her stomach.

"What's _wrong_ with you, Quinn? You're the first girl who's ever had the Puckasaurus and not liked it."

"Maybe it's you," she managed to joke, trying to ignore the hurt she felt at his words.

"No one _else_ has complained, Quinn."

She didn't have an answer to that one. She just sighed, hand clutching her underwear, the other hand pulling down the hem of her dress.

"Can you go? I just want to be alone right now."

At least he kissed her cheek before he walked out of her room.

It burned.

Quinn put her underwear back on and sat up against her headboard, letting her tears fall.

She didn't understand it. For all his swagger and arrogance, Puck could be a good guy. He took care of her, even though they'd only been dating a few months. He was polite to her parents when they were home during his visits. His own faith was important to him, Quinn could tell.

He was, as far as she knew, the kind of guy she should want. Should want to be with, should want to marry, and should want to have sex with.

But there was something missing in his brown eyes, every time she looked at him.

There was a sparkle she kept trying to find, something altogether strange, but achingly familiar.

She'd seen those eyes in her dreams, but never the face they were a part of.

Quinn did the only thing she knew how to do. Clasping her hands and linking her fingers, she rested her forehead on them and closed her eyes.

"Father," she prayed, "help me. Something's wrong with me, and I know you can fix it. I believe you can heal anything. Whatever it is that's defective in me, please fix it. Please…"

The particular warmth she always felt after praying didn't come. For once, Quinn was left feeling cold.

Three days later, Rachel handed Quinn a card, grinning like a cat that had just eaten a canary.

Quinn eyed her, then the down at the card, at the black swirled writing, in a neat, careful hand, at the star in the upper left corner.

"You are cordially invited," Quinn read, a smile beginning to quirk the corners of her mouth, "to spend an evening with Rachel Berry – an evening of food, entertainment, and… musicals."

She looked at Rachel. "Musicals."

Rachel nodded eagerly. "Since you admitted in glee the other day that you have never seen Funny Girl, I have decided to make your Broadway musical exposure my new project."

"You really don't have to do that," Quinn grinned, sticking out her tongue.

Rachel laughed. "Well, at least I can scratch Wicked off the list, then."

"That is one of the few Broadway cds I own," Quinn remarked, enjoying the disbelieving look on Rachel's face.

Rachel clucked her tongue. "I shall have to remedy that. But anyway… are you still coming Friday night?"

She looked nervous, and Quinn cocked her head. "Why wouldn't I?"

Rachel shrugged. "You wouldn't be the first 'friend' to bail on spending time with me, Quinn," she said softly, her eyes taking on a faraway look.

Quinn worried her lower lip with her teeth, then reached out and tentatively put her hand on Rachel's shoulder. "I'll have my car on Friday," she said, "so you meet me outside after class, and we'll drive to your house, okay?"

Rachel's smile was beaming; her brown eyes sparkled and Quinn's breath caught in her throat, a sense of déjà vu washing over her.

She just smiled back.

Frideay afternoon Puck caught up with Quinn just before her gym class, irritation clearly written on his face, because she'd been basically avoiding him ever since that night at her house.

"What gives?" he simply asked.

"I've been busy," she said, shouldering the bag containing her gym clothes. She closed her locker and leaned up against it, not looking at him.

"Quinn, I like you," Puck said, "but I don't know if this is going to work out."

That should make her upset, right?

Quinn felt relieved instead.

"Why not?" she asked, though.

"I'm Puckzilla," he said, holding up his hands. "I have _needs_. And if you can't provide 'em, maybe I need to go searching for greener pastures."

"So, you're breaking up with me because I don't want sex right now."

"I just can't figure out why you don't want sex with _me_." Puck leered at her. "I mean, what are you, frigid? I'm the best you'll ever get, Quinnie."

She felt like slapping him, but settled for punching his stomach, smirking when he doubled over slightly.

"Don't ever call me that again," she demanded. "But fine, whatever you want."

She started to walk off, Puck's voice stopping her. "You won't be able to stay away from Puckasaurus forever, Quinn. I might not be here when you want it."

She shook her head, and headed for the locker room.

Her conversation – her _argument_ – with Puck made Quinn ten minutes late for her last period: gym class.

And apparently God hated her that day, because when she had finished changing into her shorts and tee-shirt, Quinn walked onto the field and saw that Mr. Allison was out sick, and his substitute was none other than Coach Sue Sylvester.

The other students were currently embroiled in a game of flag football, so she strode to the pile of equipment and grabbed a blue flag belt, since it was the team Santana was on.

But Sylvester's megaphone stopped her – and them.

"Fabray!"

Her heart sank. She turned to Sylvester.

"You see this field?" Sylvester sneered, walking over to her.

Quinn nodded.

"This field is for _me_. Oh, you might think it's only for the football players, but you'd be wrong, and I suspect it's because all the peroxide in your hair has gone to your brain."

Quinn's face grew hot, and she curled her fingers into fists. She did _not_ dye her hair. But talking back wasn't an option, so she stayed silent.

"My ten nationals titles and my _name_ bought this field, Fabray, probably before you were even a disgusting little embryo in your mother's stretch-marked belly. So I do _not_ like it when students arrive onto _my_ field _late_."

"I'm sorry," she managed to offer through gritted teeth. "But I do have a life beyond my classes."

The other students were watching her; she saw Santana's sympathetic look, and Quinn momentarily hated the captain of the Cheerios, friend or not.

"And I'm sure it's a _pathetic_ life, Fabray."

Sylvester turned towards the other students and gestured towards Quinn. "Don't be like this _loser_ – late to class on a field bought with the sweat, blood, and tears of Cheerios before. You're not even worthy of licking their shoes, Fabray."

Quinn closed her eyes. Apparently, Sylvester was intent on exacting revenge on Quinn for refusing to join the squad. The next thing out of Coach's mouth proved it.

"Suicides, for the rest of the class. I don't want you to stop unless you're dead. As a matter of fact, don't even stop then. _Move_."

Quinn's mouth dropped open, and she could swear she heard Santana mutter "Holy shit," but Sylvester was glaring at her, and so Quinn took up position on the sidelines, away from the other students… and ran.

She'd be damned if she'd show weakness in front of Sylvester and her classmates.

She was in shape, her muscles were toned and tight, but forty endless minutes of sprinting and touching down will wreak havoc on the most fit of people. At some point beyond the burn and the screaming pain in her chest Quinn realized Coach Sylvester had dismissed class, and she fell to her knees – but only after she was sure the field was empty. Then Santana was next to her, an arm slipping around her waist and helping her to her feet.

She wavered, legs feeling like jelly, leaning on Santana until she was able to find her footing.

"Jesus, Quinn," Santana said. "I'd have died twenty minutes ago, fuck." There was a note of pride and respect in the Latina's voice, and her blonde-haired friend smiled gratefully at her.

Santana walked her over to her Cheerios bag; her arm still slung around Quinn's waist, she managed to lean down and extract a water bottle, offering it to the girl.

"Drink slowly," she ordered, "And don't sit down. Walk it off."

Quinn nodded, forcing herself to take small sips of the lukewarm water. Santana's arm moved from her waist, hands steadying until she was sure that Quinn wasn't going to collapse, and carefully let go.

"Walk."

"Yes, ma'am," Quinn managed to wheeze out sarcastically, but walked.

Gradually the burn subsided, even if the ache in her thighs didn't, and Quinn's breathing returned to normal. She walked back to where Santana was sitting in the grass, next to her bag, and handed the water bottle back down to her.

"Thanks," she said.

"No big," Santana replied. "You need a ride home?"

Quinn shook her head. "I've got the car. I'm going to Rachel's for a 'sleepover.'" She did the air quotes and grinned a little. "No idea what she's got planned, though. I know for a fact she's never had friends stay over before."

"That's depressing," Santana mused.

"You could probably come too, if you want."

"Only not. Captain of the cheerleading squad doesn't lower herself to treasure trail's level."

Quinn scowled. "Why do you call her that?"

Santana shrugged and stood up. "It's what we do. Social hierarchy and all that."

"Well, it's stupid."

"It's _high school_." Santana shouldered her bag and shot a knowing look at Quinn. "Anyway, want me to walk you to… where's Rachel, anyway?"

"Probably waiting for me at my car. I need to hurry; I don't want her to think I've stood her up."

Despite the pain in her legs, Quinn walked faster towards the locker room, stopping when she heard laughter behind her.

"What?"

"Nothing," Santana shook her head. "You just make it sound like you two are going on a date."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Whatever, S. I'm headed to the locker room to change, and then to the parking lot. Coming?"

"Nah. I promised Brittany we'd go see that new movie down at the dollar theater. It's some cartoon she's been dying to see for like, ever."

Now it was Quinn's turn to fasten a knowing glance onto Santana, and the Latina blushed a deep shade of pink.

"Now who's going on a date?"

"Yeah, well. I don't talk much about it, you being God's girl and all."

"It doesn't bother me anymore, Santana," Quinn said softly. "I mean, yeah, you know I still think it's wrong. But you're my friend."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's the best I can do."

"No, it's not," Santana said, and her voice was harsh. Quinn stopped just outside the locker room and looked at her.

"You could get out from under your father's thumb, _and_ his religion. Maybe _learn_ a little, about how life isn't what you think it is, all right and wrong and black and white. Love isn't just a plus b equals c, Quinn."

"Then what is it?" Her hand was on the door to the locker room, and she was suddenly very uncomfortable with the route this conversation had taken.

Santana blew a puff of air between her lips. "It's… complicated."

"I gotta go," Quinn said quietly. "Rachel's waiting. Santana… I told my dad that I was staying with you tonight."

Santana nodded. "I got your back if he calls. And, Quinn? That's exactly what I mean."

She turned on her heel and left Quinn, dumbfounded, to get dressed in the locker room alone, Santana's words echoing in her ear.


	7. Chapter 6

Rachel was leaning up against Quinn's car, brow furrowed as she checked her watch. She noticed the shadow coming up on her, though, and raised her head. A smile creased her face upon seeing Quinn, but disappeared when she saw the slow way the girl was walking towards her.

"Are you all right?" she said.

Quinn shook her head. "I'm worn out. I was late for gym, and Coach Sylvester made me run suicides for the whole period."

"Oh, my god, Quinn!" Rachel exclaimed. "Here, get in your car, sit down, do you need some water or—"

"Rachel," Quinn laughed, holding up her hand. "I'm fine. Santana gave me some water and helped me walk it off. I'm just tired. Are you ready to go?"

Rachel nodded, still looking concerned, an expression mixed with shyness, and she was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Even in that blue skirt and that blasted blue argyle sweater, she looked really pretty, Quinn thought.

The suicides had gone to her head, clearly.

Pushing the thoughts out of her mind, Quinn hit the unlock button on the remote, and opened the passenger side door.

"Your chariot, madam," she joked, and Rachel giggled. She reached for her rolling case, but Quinn stopped her. "I got it. I'll put it in the trunk."

"Thank you," Rachel said softly, then got in the car and fastened her seatbelt and closed the door, resting her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry about gym," she added, when Quinn slipped into the driver's side next to her. "I don't think I could do it. I admire your strength."

Quinn smiled a little, checking the rearview mirror as she backed out of the parking lot. "I didn't think I could. My legs hurt like a bitch."

She glanced over and laughed, seeing that Rachel's mouth had dropped open. "What?"

"It's just… I've never heard you swear like that."

"I think even God will understand, this time," Quinn said, shaking her head again. "That woman is brutal. And she wonders why I refused to join the Cheerios."

"Why did you refuse?"

Quinn's eyes stayed on the road. "You really have to ask that, after all they've put you and Kurt Hummel through? I'm not going to be one of them, Rachel. It isn't right, what they do."

"But you're a lot like them."

"I am not _like them_," Quinn hissed.

"No, I just meant… you're popular. You're pretty, and people like you. So I don't understand why you wouldn't want to be a cheerleader."

Quinn shrugged. "I just don't buy in to all the social hierarchy crap."

"You know how it works, though. And you're friends with Santana and Brittany."

"You have to know how it works, to get it to work to your advantage. And Santana's not like them, as much as she tries to hide it. She's only on the squad to protect herself. And to protect Brittany, I think."

"Oh." Rachel's head tilted, then righted itself and she shrugged. "Before I forget, my dads aren't going to be home until late tonight, but they said if you needed one of them to call your parents and let them know I won't murder you in your sleep, they'd be more than happy to reassure them."

Quinn laughed at the idea, then sobered. "Um… I told my parents I was staying at Santana's tonight."

The hurt on Rachel's face was unmistakable, and Quinn felt like crap, because it was the first time _she_ had put it there. She'd seen it before: every time a slushie had hit Rachel, every time she'd had an argument with Finn, every time Schuester shot down one of her ideas or Kurt made fun of her in glee. She'd… well, she'd seen it on a daily basis.

But _Quinn_ had never put it there, and she felt a wave of nausea in the pit of her stomach.

"Rachel…"

"If you're ashamed of me, Quinn, perhaps we ought not to have this sleepover. I certainly don't want to affect your reputation by your hanging out with me."

"_Berry_!" she said, exasperated. "I'm not ashamed of you. It's just… " She sighed. "Do you remember that night, at the dance?"

She didn't specify _which_ dance, for some reason, and she opened her mouth to clarify, but to her surprise Rachel nodded.

"Yes." She smiled ruefully. "You hated your dress."

"You have no idea," Quinn said. "Couldn't wait to get out of it."

"You were lovely, though. You looked like—"

"Juliet. I know. I remember."

They were silent then, lost in a memory, before Quinn spoke again.

"When my father took me home that night, he told me I wasn't allowed to hang out with you. I'm sorry."

Rachel looked down at her hands, twisted in her lap. "You should have told me. It's not like I'm not used to it, Quinn. I've had a lot of friendships end that way, believe it or not."

"I'm still sorry."

"So why are you?"

"What?"

"Hanging out with me?" Rachel asked. "I hope it's not out of pity, because I don't need—"

"You know, for such a short person, you make a lot of assumptions."

"I'm not really sure what my height has to do with my mental faculties, but—"

"_Rachel_." The smaller girl's mouth snapped shut, and Quinn smirked. Pulling into the driveway of Rachel's home, she turned to the girl, and was surprised to see Rachel's eyes shining with unshed tears.

Quinn unfastened her seatbelt, then reached over the console and rested her hand on Rachel's in her lap.

"We're friends," she said simply.

"But your dad—"

"_We're friends_."

Rachel stopped and looked at Quinn, searching with her eyes. Finding nothing resembling mockery, she nodded, slowly.

"Okay."

"Okay." Quinn smiled and patted her hand. "Can we go inside now? Because I am _really_ exhausted. I need to sit down or something."

"Let's just watch TV in my room," Rachel said as she unlocked her front door. "We can change out of our school clothes, and you can stretch out to relax. Would you like anything to drink, or something to eat?"

Quinn smiled and shook her head. "I'll just grab a water." She started off towards the kitchen, but Rachel stopped her with a hand on Quinn's arm.

"I'll get it," she said, a strange sparkle in her eyes. "It's not often that… well, I never have friends over. So I'll cater to you."

Quinn laughed. "I'm not sure that's how it works."

"It does in _my_ house," Rachel said, sticking her tongue out. "But you can take our bags upstairs, and change, while I get us both something to drink."

Quinn just laughed again, shaking her head and lugging their bags upstairs to Rachel's room. She would have known it was Rachel's room just by the gold star – even if Rachel's name hadn't been emblazoned on it. Still, the sheer volume of pink was startling to Quinn, upon opening the door and stepping inside. She set the bags down on the floor, then turned slowly in a circle, taking in every inch of playbills, Broadway posters, and… _bedazzled everything, _good Lord.

Her eyes alighted on the bed, and she practically drooled at the fact that it was queen-sized, with a fluffier comforter and even fluffier pillows. Eager to lie down on _that bed_, and her muscles beginning to scream at her in full force again, she dug into her bag for her sweats and tee-shirt. She had her jeans down around her ankles when Rachel's voice made her shriek and jump.

"Quinn, I brought—oh, god, I'm sorry!" Rachel slammed her bedroom door with a bang, and Quinn distinctly heard a thump that must have been Rachel's body, leaning against the outside of the door.

She quickly pulled her sweats on, yanked her shirt over her head and replaced it with the tee, then leaned against the door.

"Rachel?" she called softly. "You all right?"

"Um, fine," Rachel squeaked. "Just highly embarrassed."

Quinn grinned. "Don't be. I'm dressed now. Come on in."

She stepped from the door and opened it; Rachel grinned shyly up at her, face a bright red.

"Now, what were you saying?" Quinn said smoothly, hoping to deflect some of the girl's uneasiness.

"Oh, well, I brought you two bottles of water," she said, offering them to Quinn. "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

She shook her head. "My stomach hurts after all that running, so not right now." Her gaze shifted over to the bed.

Rachel snapped out of whatever was in her head, and gently pushed Quinn further inside her bedroom.

"Lie down and rest."

Catching Quinn's raised eyebrow, she swallowed hard. "Please? We can do 'friends having a sleepover type' stuff later."

"'Friends having a sleepover type stuff'?"

"You know: board games, movies, spin the bottle, seven minutes in heaven."

"What?"

"I was _kidding_!" Rachel giggled.

"It'd be kind of pointless, with just the two of us, anyway," Quinn smirked.

"Speak for yourself," Rachel teased, and there was that tongue again, sticking out at her.

Quinn rolled her eyes and settled into the bed, flushing red at the loud, embarrassing groan of contentment that escaped from her lips as her head hit the pillow.

"Has anyone ever told you that your bed is amazing?"

"Well, since you're the only one who's ever been in it except me… no."

Quinn could only blink at that.

Rachel reached into her drawer and pulled out some clothes, then smiled at Quinn over her shoulder.

"I'm going to change in my bathroom. I'll be right back."

Quinn just nodded, feeling the softness of Rachel's bed folding around her, soothing her aching muscles. She turned again to smile at Rachel when the girl came out of the bathroom, but the smile died on her lips when she saw that she was wearing just a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt.

It was such a departure from the usual argyle or hideous pantsuits. The shorts showed off the tan length of those legs that seemed to go on forever despite Rachel's short stature; the tee-shirt only served to accentuate the dark brown curls that were flowing over Rachel's shoulders, tousled from changing and making her look younger than her seventeen years.

"Quinn?" Rachel was looking at her oddly.

Quinn smiled then. "Gotta say, this is a welcome change from that horse sweater."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You're so mean."

"Am I really?"

"No." Rachel picked up her remote and settled in the bed next to Quinn, propping herself up against the headboard with a couple of pillows. "I usually watch the History Channel after school, but if there's something else you'd rather—"

"It's fine," Quinn interrupted. "I may have a previously-unknown addiction to historical documentaries. Also prison ones." She placed her index finger over her lips, her eyes twinkling.

"Your secret is safe with me," Rachel whispered conspiratorially, grinning. She flipped on the television and quickly found the channel.

It only took an hour for Quinn to start snoring. Rachel glanced over at her. The blonde girl had one hand tucked under cheek, her mouth slightly open; her body was curled up and turned towards Rachel.

She smiled and reduced the volume of the television. Getting up, she found the softest throw she had, and gently draped it over Quinn before slipping back in next to her and becoming absorbed in the _Ghosts of Gettysburg_.


	8. Chapter 7

Hours later, Quinn's eyes flew open when she felt movement to her side.

The room was pitch-black, and it took her a moment to remember where she was, but not before a whimper of worry had slipped out.

The movement paused, then a light was switched on, and Rachel's concerned face was looking down at her. She was wearing a light pink nightgown, and she had climbed into bed next to Quinn.

Seeing that Quinn was awake, she smiled a little. "Are you all right?"

Quinn wet her lips and nodded. "Just a little startled is all. What time is it?"

"I'm sorry I startled you. It's nine-thirty."

"I've been asleep for four hours?"

Rachel laughed, and Quinn smiled in spite of her embarrassment. "You were clearly exhausted from your gym class this afternoon, and I was more than happy to let you sleep. I'm afraid dinner was over long ago, but I can run downstairs and make you a sandwich if you'd like? We have vegan peanut butter that's almost like the real thing."

"Almost," Quinn echoed dryly, then shook her head. "It's all right. I shouldn't eat this late if I want to keep my figure."

Rachel snorted, shaking _her_ head. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. Your figure is just fine." She patted Quinn's thigh affectionately. "I hope you don't mind if I go to sleep; I know tomorrow is Saturday but I always get up early to exercise, even on the weekends."

Quinn yawned in spite of herself. "No, it's fine. I think I want to go back to sleep, anyway. Give me a minute to find the motivation to move, and I'll go to the guest room."

"Why?"

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "Why? This is _your_ room, Berry."

_And __**your**__ bed._

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm well aware of that, Quinn; I'm merely questioning why you feel you have to sleep in the other room when you're perfectly comfortable here. And girls having a sleepover normally share the same bedroom, if not the same bed."

"Well, I… I just don't…" She really couldn't come up with a good excuse; Rachel's bed _was_ so soft, and she was in no hurry to move.

Rachel stared at her, bemused. "Go back to sleep, Quinn."

"Okay," she yawned again, and curled up on her left side, away from Rachel. She heard a soft, contented sigh, then Rachel switched off the light, settling under the covers.

And suddenly Quinn was wide awake. Wide awake, and cognizant of two things.

One, the closeness and the warmth of Rachel's body.

And two, the tightness in her chest, and the aching muscles of _her_ body.

Damn Coach Sylvester.

She _hurt_, all over.

And like it or not, she soon found herself sniffling, tears rolling down her cheeks, unable to understand why she was still so tired, why her body was rebelling against her all of a sudden, and why she felt so…

Incredibly lonely.

Even with someone lying next to her, so close that she could feel the press of a leg against hers.

"Quinn?"

She cleared her throat and swiped her hand over her eyes, trying to stop crying. It only made it worse and so she buried her face in her pillow.

"Quinn, what is it?"

She felt rather than saw Rachel leaning over her, because the smaller girl hadn't turned on the light, accustomed to the darkness in her room.

"I'm just aching," she mumbled. "I guess I overdid it. My legs really hurt."

And then Rachel was gone, and for some reason that made it worse. Quinn fisted her hand in the pillow, clenching tightly.

_God, get a grip, Fabray_, she berated herself. _Stop being such a baby._

She heard water from Rachel's bathroom, then the bed dipped and the light switched back on; Quinn squinted against the brightness.

"Turn over," Rachel demanded, but her voice was soft.

Quinn rolled over. Rachel smiled at her, holding out her hand with the palm up, offering 4 ibuprofen; her other held a glass of water.

Quinn sat up and accepted gratefully, draining the glass in one long gulp. She handed it back to Rachel, who set it on the bedside table nearest her.

"There you go," she said cheerfully. "Just give that a little while, and you should be feeling better."

Quinn ducked her head a little. "Thanks, Rachel."

"Of course. Ready to try to sleep again?"

Quinn nodded. "I'm sorry."

"For…?"

"Keeping you up?" She shrugged.

"Nonsense. This is what friends do, Quinn, they take care of each other."

_Friends_.

_I don't think you should be hanging around that girl_.

It filled her with guilt, and almost brought on fresh tears. But she fought them down, and managed a watery smile.

"You're a great friend, Rach."

"I know," she said, and Quinn laughed. Rachel grinned. "Good night, Quinn."

"Good night, Rachel."

Once again the light was switched off, and once again Rachel and Quinn settled under the covers. Quinn was feeling a little better, but her cheeks were still wet, and she couldn't help but sniff.

"Quinn?"

She stiffened. "Yes?"

"Want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing, Rachel," she answered, because she honestly didn't know _what_ it was. "I just hurt."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_," she snapped, then grumbled and struck the bed with her fist. "I'm sorry. I'm just… tired and achy and cranky. I'm sorry."

"Okay."

They fell into silence then, and Quinn pressed her face into the pillow, willing herself to just go to sleep.

But then, she got the shock of her life, because Rachel had slipped closer to her, her body pressed against Quinn's, her arms wrapping around her waist.

"Rachel?" she croaked, wondering where her voice had gone.

She felt Rachel tense. "I just thought… I'm sorry, I'll—"

She moved her hands, but Quinn grabbed them before she thought better of it… and held them away from her only so that she could turn over, and nestle herself closer to Rachel.

"Please?" she asked, unable to say anything else.

"Oh, of… of course," Rachel said, sounding surprised, but her arms found their way back around Quinn's waist. "Is this okay?"

Quinn nodded, then rolled her eyes; it's not like Rachel could see it in the _dark_, after all.

"It's fine," she said quietly. "Thank you."

Rachel's right hand moved from the small of Quinn's back, but only to lightly run her fingers through the girl's hair.

"Quinn, whatever it is, I'm sure it's going to be all right."

She shook her head. "I'll be fine. Just hold me for a minute."

She had no idea why she was asking for it. She never did this with _Santana_; as far as she knew friends didn't snuggle with each other like this in bed. (Well, she knew Santana and Brittany did that, but everyone at WMHS was convinced that they were still "just friends.") But for some reason, she just wanted to curl up against _someone_, _anyone_, and Rachel was…

Rachel was _there_.

Her arms were gentle and soft, and she said nothing, just pulled Quinn closer, her hand still stroking the golden blonde hair of her friend. Quinn closed her eyes and tucked her head on Rachel's shoulder, her face pressed against the smaller girl's neck. Suddenly she felt comfortable, peaceful. She felt herself begin to drift off and she smiled a little, taking in a deep breath through her nose.

A scent hit her, then, and she breathed in again.

Something flowery. Freesia?

It was on Rachel's neck, heady and deep; against her mouth, Quinn could feel the light, rapid flutter of Rachel's pulse. And maybe it was the night, maybe it was the comfort. Maybe it was those arms tightly around her, or that skin warm against hers, or Rachel's scent filling her senses… but whatever it was, Quinn did something she'd never done before.

She pressed her mouth against Rachel's neck, to the soft skin of that fluttering pulse.

She froze.

Was it Quinn's imagination, or did Rachel move, but only to tilt her head so that her neck was more exposed? Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see Rachel's silhouette in the light coming in from the street, but that was it.

She wished she could see Rachel's _eyes_, to see if Rachel was as surprised as Quinn felt, about the fact that she had just _sort of kind of_ _kissed_ her.

Everything told her to roll over, to turn away from Rachel, but Rachel's body was soft and warm against Quinn's, her hands splayed over the small of her back.

And Quinn was drunk, not on wine coolers but on the warm freesia coming off Rachel's skin in waves. She wondered if Rachel tasted as good as she smelled…

_Wait, what?_

Slowly, carefully… she kissed her neck again, then ran her mouth along the bottom of Rachel's jaw line. And this time, it was unmistakable, because Rachel _did_ move, turning further towards Quinn, hands pressing her closer.

Quinn dipped her head, Rachel raised hers, and their lips met.

Now, everything was _screaming_ at Quinn to pull away, to run into the guest room, or, better, to run outside and drive _home_, because this was everything she'd been told to never do. But Rachel's lips were so unlike Puck's, so gentle and soft. She was sighing into Quinn's mouth, and Quinn did nothing except just… left her lips where they were.

Rachel tasted _better_ than she smelled, and all Quinn could think was how the _hell_ (sorry, Lord) was that possible?

Rachel carefully extracted her arm from Quinn, her right hand moving to cup her cheek. She stroked a thumb over her skin, and Quinn heard herself sigh.

Was this what kissing someone was supposed to feel like? She wondered. She'd never felt this with Puck. Even that night, all she'd known was a sharp, searing pain coupled with the sour taste of alcohol in her mouth, then a sweaty boy rolling off of her and swigging another wine cooler before he'd fallen asleep with a snore, only to wake up thirty minutes later, pull his pants up, and leave.

But that… that was _right_, wasn't it? Because even though she'd had sex without a ring on her hand, she was a girl and he was a boy and that's what you were supposed to do, wasn't it? That's what her dad and her pastor had drilled into her from probably the moment she was born, she thought: boys and girls are meant to be together, but only after marriage. It was the only thing that God approved of. Boys were made boys, and girls were made girls, so that they could bear children.

It was God's way.

But… then why was Quinn still kissing her, and why was Rachel kissing back, their lips moving together softly, wetly, with gentle, light sounds that seemed to crash around them in the room… Why was Quinn feeling a particular heat deep in her belly, something that roiled and seemed to grow until she realized she was kissing Rachel _harder_, and why…

Why did it feel _right_?

Because it wasn't. Quinn knew that. It _wasn't_ right_._

She was a girl and Rachel was a girl, but that didn't stop her from darting her tongue out and licking Rachel's lower lip.

"Quinn, wait."

Her hand had moved, almost of its own volition, she told herself, to cup the back of Rachel's neck. She lightly scratched the nape of the girl's neck with her fingernails (and where had she learned _that_?) and Rachel gasped; Quinn took the opportunity to slip her tongue into Rachel's mouth, and then…

Rachel pushed her away.

Not hard, not angrily, but away, nonetheless.

"_Wait, _please."

Her body tensed; now there was only one thought on her mind.

_Oh, god. What have I done? Oh, God… I'm __**sorry**__._

"Quinn." Rachel's breath was ragged, but her voice was still gentle, and Quinn marveled at her composure. _She_ felt like jumping out a window.

"What are we doing?"

"I'm sorry," Quinn said miserably, and made to turn away, but Rachel's hand on her arm stopped her.

"I'm not."

"You're not?" She couldn't see the girl's eyes, still, but she didn't _sound_ like she was joking.

"No," Rachel said. "I've never kissed a girl before, but I can't say that I've not been curious. But… what is this, Quinn? I mean…"

"I don't know, Rachel," Quinn answered, staring up at a ceiling she couldn't see. "I just… I wanted to kiss you. I don't know why. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Do friends kiss each other?"

"Brittany and Santana do…"

"I'm not sure that they're the example you want to be using for this situation, Quinn."

"Good point," she said, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Rachel, it was a bad idea. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry."

She turned away from Rachel, trying to fight another onslaught of tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Quinn Camille Fabray."

She quirked an eyebrow, a smile playing about her lips.

"Since when do you know my middle name, Rachel Barbra?"

"Probably since JFK Middle decided to publish our _full_ _names_ in the yearbook. Eighth grade, I think?"

"Seventh."

"Ah. Well, then, Quinn Camille, turn back here, please."

Against her better judgment, she allowed Rachel's hand, soft but demanding against her waist, to move her back onto her right side. She gasped a little, then, because Rachel leaned over, wrapping her arms around Quinn again, and pressed their lips together, just briefly, but firmly.

"Still think it's a bad idea?" Rachel breathed against Quinn's mouth.

She shook her head. "I don't _want_ it to be…"

Rachel traced her thumb over Quinn's lower lip, and Quinn leaned into the touch almost without realizing.

"Me either. I just don't want things to get… weird, between us."

"I'm not gay," Quinn offered. She gestured towards the both of them, weakly. "But I like this." She kissed Rachel quickly. "I like _that_. I don't think things will get weird. I mean, we're friends, right?"

Rachel smiled, a faraway expression in her eyes that Quinn could _see_, thanks both to the light coming in from the street, and Rachel's closeness. "Of course we're friends, Quinn. I'm pretty sure you're the best friend I have."

"I'm the _only_ friend you have," Quinn teased; her eyes widened when she saw the momentary flicker of hurt cross over Rachel's face. "Oh, God, Rachel, I didn't mean it that way, I didn't, I'm so so—"

She was cut off by Rachel's kiss, a gentle, languid touch that went on until both of them had to come up for air.

"Can we just stop talking for a little while?" Rachel said, a small grin on her face. She kissed Quinn again.

"Yeah," Quinn mumbled against Rachel's lips. "Talking is overrated anyway."

It felt as if she was being somehow disloyal to Rachel, because the entire time Quinn was kissing _her_, she was thinking about _Puck_. The alcohol had mercifully enabled her to forget quite a bit of what had happened that night, but there were things about _that_ night and _this_ night that she couldn't help comparing.

Puck's hand, large and grasping at her thigh as they kissed. Rachel's hands, small and careful, never straying from Quinn's back, except to caress her face. Where Puck's lips had been rough, sure of himself, demanding, Rachel's lips were curious, tentative, and ever tender.

Puck's weight, hard and heavy, had held her down. Rachel's weight was soft and warm, melding into Quinn's own.

And then she had the sudden realization that both her and Rachel's kisses had become _a lot_ like Puck's, but different, too. Firmer, more insistent, more confident; but at the same time, these kisses didn't fill her with dread and trepidation like Puck's had. For one thing, that heat in her belly hadn't been there with Puck, but was _definitely_ here with Rachel – and Quinn was pretty sure something else was going on with her body that hadn't, with Puck.

She was pretty sure that she was… _oh God_.

Quinn _was_ sure that kissing Rachel was making her _wet_.

Puck had never done _that_. She hadn't even known what it was, until one ill-placed comment by a half-drunk boy had let her know that she was apparently doing sex _wrong_.

_God, Quinn, what does it take to get you wet? This'll hurt if we can't get you going a little bit_.

She hadn't had sex ed before; her parents had refused it. So the depth of her knowledge was locker room talk, and Brittany's occasional bouts of "too much information," before Santana would place a firm but loving hand over her mouth.

So… apparently it was something she was supposed to do. It was something that boys and girls were supposed to do together. And she'd tried, but for some reason, she couldn't. And Puck was right.

He was right. It had hurt like hell.

A soft sigh brought Quinn's attention back to Rachel.

They were now pressed so close that all Quinn could see were Rachel's eyes.

So brown, almost black. Sparkling.

Quinn wondered what it would be like to lose herself in those eyes.

She felt a little bit like she was already lost.

She sat bolt upright in bed, scooting away from Rachel.

"Quinn?" Rachel queried gently.

"I… I think I should go sleep in the guest room."

"Oh." Rachel sat up and nodded at her. "That's fine… are you sure?"

No, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she wanted to kiss Rachel and shove her off the bed, all at the same time.

"I just don't think… we should be doing this."

Quinn felt like the pause after she said those words was the longest of her life, before she heard Rachel sigh again.

"Okay, Quinn. Good night. I hope you sleep well."

"Rachel?"

What could she say? _I'm sorry_? _I didn't mean to hurt you_?

_Tell me to come back_?

"Good night, Quinn."

_Fuck_.

She slipped out of bed and used her cell phone to guide herself to the bedroom at the end of the hall, stepping quietly to not wake the Berrys. She closed the door to the guest room and flipped the light on, smiling a little at the distinct lack of pink.

Still, the sunny yellow of the room did nothing to improve Quinn's mood, and so she turned out the light again and flopped on the bed.

It wasn't nearly as nice as Rachel's.

What was she doing? Quinn asked herself.

She didn't _like_ girls. She didn't _kiss_ girls.

It was _wrong_.

Even if her lips were still stinging with the memory of Rachel's mouth on hers.

Quinn's mind drifted back to fifth grade, when she and Santana and Brittany had been obsessed with collecting the pictures out of teen magazines. They'd sit together at lunch and giggle over the magazines, then select which pictures they wanted. Santana and Brittany always took most of the guys' pictures, even if Quinn's brow furrowed when she noticed Santana's gaze lingering a little too long over Britney Spears or Pink.

Quinn had started to notice boys: had noticed the way Finn looked as he began to train to play football in junior high. She noticed Noah Puckerman and how, even at the age of eleven, he seemed to leer at herself, Santana, and Brittany.

She noticed how Brittany had started to hang all over them, how Santana's lip would curl with disgust; but in the end, Quinn noticed how Brittany always came back to Santana.

She noticed all of these things, selected a few pictures of boys from the magazines… and stowed them all in the bottom drawer of her desk.

Quinn didn't want to think about what that meant.

She was still thinking about it by the time she finally drifted off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 8

The unmistakable smell of breakfast woke Quinn up. She squinted at the sunlight shining in through Rachel's windows, and it only took a moment for her to realize that she was alone.

She stretched out in the bed, arms over her head, feeling the burn of her muscles and recalling the events of the previous night.

Quinn crying at the pain in her body, everywhere. Rachel's arms slipping around her, holding gently.

Rachel.

Rachel's lips on hers.

_Quinn's_ lips. On Rachel's _neck._

Rachel's breath quickening, Rachel's moans in her ear.

Had she imagined it?

The fact that she'd started out in Rachel's room, only to end up in the guest room, told Quinn she hadn't.

She didn't know what was worse, at that moment: remembering what she had done, or waking up alone.

A noise startled her out of her thoughts, and she turned her head just in time to see Rachel, standing in the doorway and knocking softly against the doorjamb.

Her hair was damp, her cheeks flushed, and Quinn swallowed hard.

"You're awake," Rachel said carefully. "Did you sleep well?"

_Not really_. "Yes," she nodded. "You?"

Rachel sat down on the edge of the bed next to Quinn, pressed precariously close to the other girl's stomach, and Quinn swallowed.

"Quinn?" Rachel's eyes were wide, a little fearful yet bright. "I think we need to talk about last night—"

"We don't have to," Quinn finally was able to say with a shrug. "We didn't really do anything."

Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "Didn't… do… anything. Quinn—"

"We said it wouldn't get weird," she said hastily. "We're friends, Rachel. I want us to stay that way."

_I __**need**__ us to stay that way_.

The expression on Rachel's face told Quinn that she wanted to object, but instead she just nodded.

"Are you going to tell Finn?"

Okay, so Quinn knew they _had_ done something. She had a strange taste in her mouth, knowing that she'd helped Rachel at least partially cheat on her boyfriend.

Rachel sighed and toyed with the hem of the blue tee-shirt that she was wearing, along with the khaki shorts that seemed to accentuate every curve of her legs, her thighs…

Quinn averted her eyes.

"No," Rachel said then. She looked away as well. "I mean, it was just kissing."

Quinn nodded. "Just kissing," she echoed.

Their eyes met.

Rachel offered a small smile.

"Okay. Well then, I was… I was going to ask if I could 'just kiss' you good morning, but I suppose that wouldn't be a good idea."

They were silent then, with Quinn's eyes scanning rapidly around the room. Then, before she could stop herself, she propped up on one elbow and brought her lips to Rachel's, gently, quickly.

"Good morning, Rachel."

Rachel was startled, Quinn could tell, but then a slow, soft smile crossed over her face, crinkling her eyes. Warm fingertips found the side of Quinn's face, trailing down her jaw line before they were gone.

"Good morning, Quinn." She giggled when Quinn's stomach growled and the blonde girl covered her face with an embarrassed groan. "My dads are fixing breakfast for us, if you're interested."

Quinn peeked out through splayed fingers. "Cardboard bacon and Styrofoam eggs?" she joked.

Rachel huffed. "Believe it or not, I made my fathers buy slaughtered hog and unborn baby chickens especially for this occasion, Quinn Fabray. So you should feel special."

_I do_.

"Thank you," Quinn said. "I really do appreciate it."

Rachel smiled again, and Quinn took in a breath; the freesia scent was stronger, since Rachel had evidently just come out of the shower.

It danced around her; she was light-headed from it, and it was only made worse when she caught a droplet of water still on Rachel's neck, just below her ear.

She thought of pressing her mouth to Rachel's neck, of catching that droplet on her tongue.

Quinn clenched her teeth and distracted herself by sliding up in the bed, then swinging her legs around Rachel so that she should stand up.

"I should probably get dressed."

"Well, it is Saturday," Rachel remarked, "so I won't tell anyone if you decide to lie around and be grungy."

"Who even says grungy now?" Quinn laughed, following Rachel into her bedroom. "Don't worry, Rachel; I don't wear dresses every day."

"Good," Rachel said, turning away from Quinn and picking up the brush on her vanity table, running it through her hair. "I think you're prettier like this."

"Like… what?"

Rachel's body tensed, seeming to realize the thin line they were still treading, and she shrugged, not turning around to meet Quinn's gaze.

"I just meant… you're lovely in your dresses, Quinn. But you're different when it's just you and a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. You seem… I don't know. More at ease, maybe? Freer. You certainly seem happier."

"I'm happy," Quinn insisted, standing with her hands on her hips.

Rachel sighed. "I didn't mean that, I just… never mind." She turned to Quinn and smiled, though it seemed strained. "Why don't you get dressed, and we'll go downstairs for breakfast."

Quinn nodded and grabbed her overnight bag, going into Rachel's bathroom and closing the door. She locked it behind her, even though she knew Rachel wouldn't be coming in.

She wondered how offended Rachel would be if she left. But, Quinn thought, _she'd_ be offended if she'd invited someone over for a sleepover, bought food that she definitely wouldn't eat, and then that someone had just left.

And even though she was nervous, about spending the day with Rachel, and about – oh, god – meeting Rachel's fathers, as Quinn sat on the toilet and looked around at the decorations in Rachel's bathroom, she felt… cared for, in that Rachel had bothered to make sure there would be something for her breakfast that would be non-vegan.

She decided on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. After pulling the shirt over her head, she made to leave the bathroom, but she stopped. A small purple bottle of freesia body spray was on the counter. Quinn picked it up and sniffed, breathing in.

It smelled better on Rachel.

For a split second she considered spraying some on her tee-shirt, so she'd have the scent of Rachel with her when she got home.

She fought hard to not be nervous at the idea.

A knock at the door startled Quinn out of her thoughts.

"Quinn?" Rachel called gently. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," she answered quickly. Setting the bottle down, she gathered up her clothes and unlocked the door, opening it. She gave Rachel what she hoped was a convincing smile.

"I'm starving. You?"

Rachel looked concerned, as she regarded Quinn, but she smiled, and this time, there was no hint of its earlier stiffness. "Quite. I think kissing you helped me work up an appetite last—" Horror etched Rachel's face, and she immediately stopped.

Quinn's eyebrows rose in amusement, and made a mental note that embarrassing herself was a surefire way to shut Rachel up. Maybe she could utilize that in the future…

"Let's just go downstairs," she just said, trying not to seem too anxious at the prospect of meeting Rachel's fathers.

Rachel noticed Quinn chewing on her lip and reached out to squeeze the girl's hand. "They don't eat people alive. Not on the first visit, anyway."

Quinn giggled, all too aware of the fact that Rachel held her hand while they walked downstairs.

Her stomach growled even louder as they approached the kitchen; Quinn figured she was practically drooling at the smell of bacon floating throughout the house.

Rachel, on the other hand, looked a little green. Quinn smirked and squeezed her hand.

"You know you didn't have to," she said honestly. "I would have eaten whatever you had." _I would have __**hated**__ it, but I would have…_

Rachel smiled, a bit of normal color returning to her face. "Of course I had to, Quinn," she said smoothly. "You're my friend, and you were staying over. I just…" A look of uncertainty crossed over her features. "I wanted you to like hanging out with me."

It bothered Quinn to see that for all her overbearing self-confidence, deep inside Rachel was still sometimes an insecure little girl, desperate for a friend.

She squeezed her hand again, just before letting it go, because they were standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

"I do like hanging out with you," she said softly.

A little too much, the devil on her shoulder added.

Quinn tilted her head then, having the sudden realization that she could get used to having Rachel beam at her.

A short man in glasses sat at the kitchen table, going through the paper. At the clearing of Rachel's throat, he looked up, and Quinn felt a stab of fear when the man's face darkened. Rachel whimpering next to her didn't help matters.

"Robert Allen _Berry_!" the man hissed in anger.

The taller black man turned slightly from his position at the stove. "Patrick?" he queried in confusion.

"When were you going to tell me that you kidnapped a girl?"

_What?_ Quinn stared at them, then glanced at Rachel. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open, and her gaze darted frantically back and forth between her two dads.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, darling," Rachel's dad Robert said, holding a spatula aloft, one eyebrow quirked in amusement.

Her other dad, Patrick, scoffed. "Like you don't see that adorable girl with the blonde hair and hazel eyes. Come on, where'd you get her?"

That's when both Rachel and Quinn noticed that the two men's eyes were twinkling, small smiles playing about their lips.

"Oh my god," Rachel groaned. "My dads are such _dorks_. I am so sorry, Quinn."

"I'm not," Quinn laughed. "At least now I know they really _won't_ eat me alive."

Patrick laughed, standing up from the table and extending his hand, shaking Quinn's vigorously.

"I'm Patrick Berry, obviously. And you're Quinn…?"

"Fabray," she finished.

The smile froze on Patrick's face, and Quinn's heart sped up.

"Daddy," Rachel said softly.

He recovered himself and his smile widened. "Welcome to our home, Quinn. We're glad to have you."

Rachel's other dad wiped his hands on a towel before shaking Quinn's. "We really are," he said merrily, "despite our penchant for very bad jokes."

"At least now I know where Rachel gets _hers_. Ow!"

Quinn rubbed her arm where Rachel had swatted it, sticking her tongue out at her.

"Have a seat, girls," Rob – he'd told Quinn the only Mr. Berry he knew was his father – told them.

"Breakfast will be ready in just a minute."

The food was amazing, and Quinn felt slightly embarrassed for wolfing down her breakfast as if she hadn't… well, in hindsight, she really _hadn't_ eaten in twelve hours, so she hoped the Berrys understood. If the happy looks Rachel kept shooting her way were any indication, though, Quinn was making a good impression.

She stayed quiet through most of breakfast, though, speaking only when the Berrys or Rachel asked her a question, content just to observe the little family.

Always, in the back of her head as she watched, was a sermon Pastor Samuel had given when Quinn was eight years old.

_His face was red, sweating; he kept wiping at it with a blue silk handkerchief, which he tucked back into the pocket of his designer suit._

_"You see," he bellowed, "it's not enough that the homosexual wants his so-called rights, the right to marry, the right to raise children, the right to work in our schools and in our hospitals, in our courtrooms and prisons. No, good people of God, these depraved, immoral creatures also want the right to __**our**__**children**__."_

_Quinn heard a soft gasp from her mother; her father's arm slid around the little girl and pressed her tightly against his side. She snuggled in, eyes wide and confused. Next to her father, Abigail's arms were folded across her chest, and she looked bored._

_"The homosexual child molester is permeating every corner of our society, most notably in the priests of the Catholic Church, and it won't be long until they bring their agenda to our town, to our schools, to our children. We must fight, my brothers and sisters, to keep the homosexual dogs, the lesbian whores, away from our children. We must fight for their purity and their salvation, in the name of Jesus."_

_She might not have understood what it meant, but Quinn knew it was bad, and she whimpered. _

_Instantly her father hoisted her onto his lap, snuggling her with his arms around her waist._

_"Don't you worry, my Quinn," he whispered into her ear. "I'll protect you."_

_She rested her head against his shoulder, listening as Pastor Samuel went on to talk about how God had commanded homosexuals to be put to death._

Sitting in front of Quinn, now, were two gay men and their daughter: laughing, talking, smiling lovingly at each other and joking. Conversations about school, work, about going out to see a movie together the next weekend. Talking to Quinn, asking polite questions about glee, about her plans for college (because, as Rob said, they'd known about _Rachel_'s plans since she was four, and they were pretty sure that not all teenagers were that, well, "driven") and teasing her when she reached for the bacon then drew back, thinking it was impolite to take the last piece.

They didn't seem immoral, criminal, and evil.

They seemed… like a family.

She offered to help clean up after the meal, but Rachel's dads refused it, saying they would get to it before they left for the afternoon.

"Dad and Daddy love to shop for antiques on the weekend," Rachel pointed out, smiling affectionately at her fathers.

"Are you staying for a while?" Patrick asked.

Quinn glanced at Rachel, who smiled.

"If Rachel wants me to hang out," she offered.

Rachel clapped her hands and squealed, eliciting a laugh from her dads.

"Excellent," she said. "I have chosen Funny Girl and Rent as the two musicals which I think are the perfect ones for your introduction to Broadway."

Quinn rolled her eyes but grinned in spite of herself, noticing that Rachel's dads had rolled their eyes as well.

As soon as her dads left, Rachel was a whirlwind in the kitchen, popping popcorn and grabbing waters for herself and Quinn, setting the bowl and bottles on the coffee table in the living room.

Quinn just watched her from the couch, smiling in amusement and taking in the tastefully decorated living room, with its evidence that a teenager lived there: books tossed on the floor, arts magazines on the coffee table, a Spanish test (Rachel'd gotten an A+, Quinn noticed with some satisfaction – and then wondered why _she_ was satisfied) underneath the table…

It looked… nice. Homey. Not like hers, where everything was like a museum piece and her mother would have a conniption if dust got on something. Rachel's home looked lived in, and it felt… peaceful.

"Rent first?" Rachel queried then, holding up two DVD cases. The look on her face clearly said it _would_ be Rent first, and Quinn smiled.

"It's fine, Rach."

"I believe that Rent is the perfect musical to start with; I realize that Funny Girl can be what some call an acquired taste. But Rent has been popularized in its movie form, and so perhaps you might enjoy it more, first."

Rachel popped in the DVD and then coming to curl up on the left side of the couch. Quinn stayed stuck to the right side, trying to get comfortable, but her legs were still hurting from the suicides of the day before – and her mind was still racing with the activities of the previous night, if she was being honest with herself.

Thirty minutes into the musical, with Quinn continuing to shift on the couch, trying to find a better position, Rachel paused the movie.

"Quinn? Are you all right?"

"Just still aching," she sighed. "At least now I know to _never_ be late for gym again, in case Sylvester's substituting. Maybe now that I broke up with Puck I—"

"You broke up with Puck?"

Quinn's mouth dropped open. Shit. _Shit_. "Yeah. It just… wasn't working," she offered lamely.

Rachel nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Quinn."

She nodded back. "Thanks."

Rachel turned the movie back on, but after another ten minutes of Quinn squirming, she huffed and paused it again. She got up and went upstairs, leaving Quinn staring after her in confusion.

"This is going well," she muttered, folding her arms across her chest and shaking her head.

Moments later Rachel came back down, cupping one hand and carrying a pillow with the other. "Here," she said, and handed Quinn four ibuprofen, then sat back onto the couch with her back against the arm.

"Thanks," Quinn said gratefully, swallowing them with the water from her bottle. She smiled a little.

"You like taking care of me, don't you?"

Rachel didn't answer, and the question hung in the air for a painful minute. Finally she just shrugged. "I don't like to see you hurting."

Quinn fiddled with her water bottle, not sure of what to say to that. Eventually she just settled on another "thanks," even though it was quieter this time, and she couldn't bring herself to look at Rachel when she said it.

"Quinn. Come here."

She looked over and saw that Rachel had leaned against the couch with her legs sprawled out and the pillow against her chest. Quinn tilted her head and quirked an eyebrow.

"You've been wiggling around on that couch for almost an hour; you're clearly not comfortable. Come lie down."

"Rachel…"

"It's not a request, Quinn."

"Is anything ever a _request_ with you, Rachel Berry?" Quinn shot back, but to her surprise, she immediately did as she was told.

And really, Rachel was right, because there was yet another embarrassingly loud moan of relaxation as soon as Quinn's head hit the pillow and she was able to stretch out her legs to ease off some of the ache.

Rachel chuckled a little, draping her arm over Quinn's stomach to hold her securely.

"Doesn't that feel better?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "What, my sighing in satisfaction wasn't any indication?"

"Well, when I kissed you it was…"

"Rachel!"

Quinn rolled her eyes when Rachel giggled.

They fell into silence then, Rachel not bothering to play the DVD, and Quinn was content just to lie there with her eyes closed, feeling Rachel trace patterns on her stomach with her fingers.

"Rachel?" she said suddenly, "why did your dad look at me funny when I told him my last name was Fabray?"

Rachel's hand stilled. "Quinn, I don't think—"

"Tell me, please?"

Quinn still didn't open her eyes, but Rachel sighed audibly.

"Do you remember when proposition eight was on the ballot a couple of years ago?"

"The one about gay marriage?"

"That's the one," Rachel answered softly. "A lot of people were writing letters to the editor in the Lima News, either for or against the proposition. My daddy – that's Patrick – he wrote one opposing the proposition, of course."

She paused, and Quinn shifted a little to turn on her side, Rachel's hand resting against her ribs.

"Okay?"

Rachel sighed again. "Quinn, I really don't think you want to hear—"

"I _do_."

"Fine," Rachel said evenly. "A week after my daddy's letter to the editor appeared in the paper, another one showed up. This time, the writer called my daddy ignorant of God's law. He told my daddy that he was perverted, and said he was, and I quote, 'passing the perversion on to his innocent daughter, who will no doubt grow up with the same warped concept of love as her fathers, and I use that term lightly.'"

"That's horrible!" Quinn exclaimed.

"The letter was written by Russell Fabray."

Even as the revulsion welled up within her, Quinn knew it. She knew it had been her father, knew it was something like what he would have said. He'd said so many things like it, so many times before.

"Rachel, I'm so sorry…"

She felt Rachel shrug underneath her, and the smaller girl's hand resumed its stroking of Quinn's ribcage.

"I'm sorry for the way my daddy acted towards you. But sometimes, a family's reputation precedes them, even just based on their name. I should know that more than anyone, really. People hear Berry, they automatically think 'two gay men.' You end up being doomed before you've said anything else. Like when you introduced me to your dad at the playground that night."

Now it was Quinn's turn to sigh. She remembered all too well the way her father's face had tightened, the way Rachel's had held a knowing look, telling Quinn that the little girl was used to it, even at the tender age of eleven.

In that moment, Quinn was ashamed to be a Fabray.

"Do you know why I didn't go to the dance, Quinn?"

She furrowed her brow at the change in subject. Her back was beginning to ache, so she turned over, resting her chin on the pillow and glancing up at Rachel. She was surprised to see the girl's eyes glimmering with tears.

"You said you didn't want to choose between your dads."

Rachel nodded slowly. "Except I didn't have to," she said, smiling slightly. "Daddy was gone for a business conference, and Dad – that's Rob – he was still home. He wanted to take me. I said I didn't want to go."

"But why?" Quinn asked. She had reached out to take Rachel's hand, their fingers entwining together.

Rachel shook her head, tears beginning to drip down her cheeks. "I mean, if I'd gone, everyone would have whispered. 'Oh look, there's Rachel Berry and her gay dad.' I'm never just 'Rachel and her dad.' Always Rachel and her dads, 'Rachel and her gay dads.' So I didn't go."

"But you were at the playground," Quinn pointed out.

"I didn't go," Rachel reiterated. "That doesn't mean that I didn't want to."

It hit Quinn then, the memory of a little girl sitting alone on a swing, tiny feet dragging lines into the sand below her, with the music of a dance in her ears. A dance that she so desperately wanted to be part of, but would never have been made welcome.

Simply because of her _name_.

Almost without thinking, Quinn had Rachel's hand in both of hers, and now she gently pressed her lips to the smaller girl's knuckles, nuzzling them with her cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," she murmured. "If I'd known…"

"You wouldn't have been able to do a thing," Rachel said gently, running the fingers of her other hand through Quinn's hair. "You're your father's daughter, Quinn."

"Rachel," she said. "I… I do have a mind of my own. I do. What you said that day after the celibacy club meeting, I—"

"Shh," Rachel pressed her finger to Quinn's lips. "I know you do. I also know how hard it is for you."

Quinn smiled a little. "Is there anything you don't know?"

Rachel cocked her head, thinking. "Algebra," she said finally. "I can't figure out that damn subject to save my life."

The blonde-haired girl looking up at her laughed, and was relieved when Rachel gave her a genuine smile.

"I'm pretty good at algebra," Quinn said. "I could tutor you. But only if you want me to," she added hastily.

"I'd like that," Rachel said, her fingers disentangling from Quinn's hair. "You want to finish the musical?"

The hopeful tone in her voice was unmistakable, and Quinn laughed again, turning over onto her back.

"Of course."

Throughout the rest of Rent, Rachel never let go of Quinn's hand.

Quinn didn't mind.


	10. Chapter 9

School had never been that difficult for Quinn. She figured it was because school had been the first endeavor in which she'd been expected to excel; from the time she was in kindergarten her father had impressed upon his little hazel-eyed, blonde-curled daughter the importance of being the best. This was his attitude so much that the first time five-year-old Quinn had brought home a picture she'd colored, he looked down at it and smiled, and with a pat on her head told her that she could do so much better next time if she just stayed inside the lines.

An hour later she'd retrieved the picture from the trash and tucked it inside the scrapbook she'd gotten for Christmas.

What followed was an endless routine of studying, studying, and more studying. Somehow everyone at WMHS knew that Quinn Fabray took the best notes in any class, and she'd even considered running a business of selling those notes, before she considered the consequences, if her parents were ever to find out. She settled for giving the notes to Brittany, because she figured God would _smile_ down on her for doing _that_ good deed.

All her hard work had paid off with excellent marks in the academic field.

Sometimes, though, when it came to the social field?

Quinn Fabray was sunk.

She could have any boy she wanted. Since she was 13 years old, boys practically threw themselves at her feet for a chance at a word, a smile, or maybe even a date. Since she was 14, it had been Noah Puckerman, and she'd thought they just… went together, like boys and girls were supposed to. There'd been the issue with her father not liking him at first, but Quinn had become adept at getting her way, and he'd soon warmed to the idea. It didn't matter much anyway, because Puck usually never came to her house – except when her parents were gone.

And as far as friends? Quinn had the pick of any girl she wanted, to be a best friend or even just a friend. She'd never lacked in sleepovers or birthday parties, always had a roster of friends in her cell phone that she could call up for a quick trip to the mall. And even though Santana and Brittany sometimes travelled in different circles, and there'd been that… _problem_ when Santana had come out to her, they were the best friends she could ever have.

So she had her choice of boys, and her pick of girls to be friends, and Quinn Fabray could walk the halls with her head held high and never feel a pang of jealousy or inadequacy.

But all her academic and, for the most part social, prowess couldn't explain why, on a casual Wednesday morning before third period Spanish, Quinn was rifling through her locker and trying desperately not to watch as Rachel and Finn Hudson kissed each other, less than six feet away from where she was standing.

She was happy that Rachel had a boyfriend. Too many years of watching the little diva suffer slushies and dumpster dives alone had worn on Quinn a little – not that she'd ever admit to having noticed. Rachel didn't really confide in her either, they weren't that kind of friends, but even Quinn could see that it was difficult. There were times when Rachel could barely stop the tears before she ran into the bathroom with her emergency slushie kit, times when Rachel's usual boisterous self was toned down a little, after she'd managed to climb out of the dumpster for the millionth time.

She joked with Quinn and said that it served to give character, but Quinn had just shaken her head. She didn't have the power to stop the hierarchy of cheerleaders and jocks that tormented Rachel, even if she was friends with Santana. But she was glad that at least now, Rachel had someone in her corner.

Even if Quinn's lip curled in a kind of disgust as she watched Finn press Rachel _into_ a corner, his mouth on hers.

Quinn wondered what it would be like to kiss Finn.

Would he be like Puck, ready and unyielding, confident to the point of arrogance, teeth crashing against hers as his tongue battled to stake his claim?

Or… would he be like Rachel? Would his lips be soft and inviting, searching and asking for permission before doing anything, meeting hers in a casual will-they-or-won't-they dance, before finally coming together smoothly and firmly? Would his hands on Quinn's hips be gentle, still holding her down but not roughly, not trapping but anchoring?

She watched as Finn gently lifted up Rachel so that her small face could be flush with his; watched while Rachel smiled lightly as their lips met.

Watched while Rachel suddenly shifted her eyes to the side, watched as those deep brown pools connected with _hers_.

Watched, her feet numbly rooting her to the spot, as Rachel never tore her gaze away from Quinn, while she was kissing _Finn_.

When Rachel wrapped her arms around Finn's neck, Quinn finally turned away.

She was crushing on Finn, she told herself. Crushing on Finn, and jealous of Rachel.

She wanted Finn. Because Rachel –_Finn_—deserved better.

Quinn growled in frustration and slammed her locker door, a little louder than she expected, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Rachel, now alone and gathering her own things, jump and stare at her with an expression of confusion.

_Good_, Quinn thought, before turning and striding off to class, not waiting for the small diva that was still somehow tagging along behind her.

She didn't look over her shoulder, not even as she slid into her desk and she heard Rachel sigh as she did the same.

For the first thirty minutes, Schuester marveled that Quinn seemed remarkably dedicated to learning future tense.

Then her cell phone buzzed softly, and Quinn groaned inwardly, nonetheless retrieving it from her purse.

**Are you okay? – R**

_No_, Quinn thought. I'm crushing on your boyfriend.

It didn't sound right, not even in her head.

_**I'm fine. – Q**_

Seconds later, another buzz.

**Are you sure? – R**

For the first time, Quinn hated Rachel's usual persistence.

She just wanted to be left alone, to stare out the window and daydream.

Gentle touch of lips against lips, careful, tiny hands on her hips.

Hands slipping lower to…

Quinn jerked upright in her seat, her eyes wide, breath coming a little heavier than it had thirty seconds ago.

_**I'm fine. Just tired. – Q**_

There was a pause as Rachel answered a question for Mr. Schuester, her voice flowing and lilting over the syllables, and Quinn felt herself shiver. She'd heard Rachel sing, she'd heard Rachel _talk_, but now… something was different in the way Rachel's voice found a lower decibel, and Quinn could swear it was because Rachel was hell-bent on teasing her.

Even if she knew it was ridiculous.

Her phone went off again.

**You're still going to tutor me this afternoon, right? – R**

Quinn smiled a little and sent back an answer in the affirmative.

**Good. Hey, Quinn.**

Quinn rolled her eyes then, knowing yet another bad joke was to come.

_**Yes, Rachel.**_

Her phone buzzed once more and she caught Schuester frowning at her, so she hurriedly sat the cell on her thigh and opened it up.

**Thanks. *heart* – R**

Quinn's response didn't betray the fluttering going on in her chest, or the smile that threatened to turn up her lips.

**Anytime, Rach. – Q**

She couldn't bring herself to add the heart, though.

"I just don't see why letters have to be combined with numbers," Rachel complained later on that day.

"Well," Quinn drawled, glanced over at Rachel as they both lay on their stomachs on Rachel's bed, an open algebra book in front of them. "You've got letters in music – that correspond to the notes. And then you have numbers, which are the counts or the beats to those notes."

Rachel gave Quinn a withering look. "You cannot compare this," she pointed to her algebra book, "to music. There is _no_ comparison."

"I bet there's algebra in music somewhere."

"If there is I'll stop singing."

"Let me grab my laptop so I can find it, then," Quinn joked, hissing a little when Rachel's elbow connected with her ribcage.

"Can we actually get down to the business of tutoring me, so that I don't fail algebra and become yet another high school dropout statistic?"

Quinn rolled her eyes at Rachel's usual dramatics, but smiled. They hadn't bothered to change their school clothes – Quinn still in a yellow summer dress and Rachel in a hideous red skirt and white tights topped with a red and white argyle sweater – but they were sprawled together on Rachel's bed, lying so close their shoulders were touching.

She considered the position mildly dangerous… but ignored that part of her mind, content to listen to the part that was enjoying Rachel's arm against hers, Rachel's perfume once again filling her senses.

Enjoying _Rachel_.

Even though she shouldn't be, because she was a good girl.

A good, Christian, _straight_ girl.

Quinn took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, wincing when her voice came out a little too bright, too cheerful, and Rachel raised an eyebrow at her.

"Let's try this one," Quinn pointed to a problem in the book. "Eight r plus 17 equals 65. Solve for R."

"Solve for Rachel!"

Quinn thunked her forehead on the bed. "Are you always this lame?" she mumbled.

"It's a talent I've perfected after many years of rigorous practice."

Quinn momentarily wondered if Rachel had had rigorous practice at kissing, because she had pretty much perfected _that_. Thankfully her face was still plastered against the bed, so the other girl couldn't see the flush rising on her cheeks.

Sighing, she raised her head and refocused, with some difficulty, on the algebra book. "Okay, can you solve for _Rachel_, then?" she asked pointedly.

Rachel chewed on her lower lip and winced. "Can you explain it to me?"

Quinn nodded. Rachel's uncertainty was a little endearing, and Quinn rather liked that _she_ could show Rachel something, when it was usually _Rachel_ correcting her pitch or her breathing techniques or the volume of her voice.

"All right," she said firmly, "to get… _Rachel_ all by herself—" She smiled when Rachel giggled a little. "You have to make sure that you do the same thing to the left side that you do to the right side."

Quinn glanced at Rachel when she snorted. "What?"

"Well," Rachel said, her eyes twinkling above a mouth that Quinn could tell she was desperately trying to keep in a straight line, "Rachel would be very upset if you only did something to the left side, and failed to repeat it on the right."

With that, Rachel nearly fell off the bed as she burst into laughter, and Quinn's eyes widened.

"Oh, my god," she said dumbly. "You just… you just made that perverted!"

"You helped," Rachel pointed out, still laughing so hard she snorted again.

"I don't even _think_ like that," Quinn said, rolling her eyes a little.

Rachel settled herself back onto the bed and shot Quinn a look, which her friend chose to ignore.

"Come on, Rachel, you can do this," she said, tapping the algebra problem with her pencil.

"Okay, okay." Rachel leaned over to Quinn, tucking her chin against the girl's shoulder and staring down at the book.

Quinn swallowed hard, feeling her mouth go suddenly dry. She cleared her throat.

"Okay, so," she said, groaning inwardly when her voice came out shakier than she'd intended. "You have to get 8r by itself. And if you do something to the left side—" She glared at Rachel, who held up her hands but nonetheless snickered a little. "You have to do it to the right."

She drew a squiggly line separating the two halves of the problem for emphasis. "So… pretend that 17 is being held captive in a tower by her evil stepmother," Quinn said nonchalantly, calling on her lame 7th grade algebra teacher for inspiration, "and she's escaping the tower to finally be reunited with her princess—_prince_."

Quinn stiffened, but if Rachel noticed her slip-up, she didn't say; she was simply looking down at the book, her tongue tucked between her lips as she concentrated.

Quinn cleared her throat and willed herself to continue. "So, first thing you have to do is subtract 17 from both sides. Then you're left with 8R and… what's 65 minus 17?"

Rachel thought about it for a moment.

"Forty-eight?"

"Yep," Quinn said, smiling when Rachel squealed a little. "And then you divide 8R by 8 to get R. Which means that you divide 48 by 8, and so the answer is…?"

Rachel gaped. "Rachel equals six!"

Quinn laughed. "Yeah. Rachel equals six."

Then Rachel squealed even louder and the algebra book was knocked to the floor as she rolled over on her back and pulled Quinn down for a bone-crushing hug. Quinn shuddered a little at the contact, but schooled herself behind her trademark smirk.

"Don't tell me you like algebra now, Berry."

"I'd like algebra all the time, if you were the princess waiting on the other side of the fence for me."

_Oh, shit._

Quinn tensed above Rachel and Rachel felt it, her eyes suddenly hooded and dark with concern. But it didn't last long, because for a split second Quinn's eyes were fastened on Rachel's mouth, on how full and pink her lips were, in the way her lower lip was tucked uncertainly between her teeth.

And all Quinn wanted to do was…

It was an awkward position but she kissed her anyway, lowering herself so that their lips were just barely touching, before Quinn drew back and looked at Rachel, silently asking.

To her surprise, Rachel sat up so that she was on the edge of the bed, then gently pulled Quinn to her, moving so that the girl was now straddling her left thigh. Quinn's eyes widened at the intimacy of the position, but Rachel's hand was soft and smooth on the small of her back, and she was smiling at her so sweetly and happily that Quinn couldn't help but lean down and capture her lips again.

Then it happened.

In between sighing into Quinn's mouth and tugging the taller girl's lower lip between her teeth, sucking on it gently, Rachel moved again slightly and her thigh brushed against Quinn's center.

Quinn moaned.

Her eyes flew open and she jumped up, an apology on her lips, but it died when she saw Rachel's brown hair had slipped into her brown eyes, eyes that were again dark with… something that Quinn had never seen before.

She thought it looked like want.

"Quinn?" Rachel queried softly. "Are you all right?"

No, she wasn't all right. She was scared and heated; there was a tingling deep in her belly that she hadn't felt before, and it terrified her.

"I… I don't know," she confessed.

Rachel nodded slowly, then smiled. "Come here," she said, and Quinn was surprised at the tenderness in her voice.

Quinn hesitated. Going _there_ could be dangerous, in more ways than one.

"Come here," Rachel said again. "It's okay, Quinn, I promise."

She found herself nodding, found herself seated on the bed next to Rachel, and then Rachel's arms were around her, holding her close, and Quinn nestled her head onto the girl's shoulder.

She tucked her face into Rachel's neck, like she had done the first time, breathing in the soft, deep scent of the girl's freesia perfume. She'd really have to ask Rachel where she got it, so she could keep her stocked in it…

Quinn would have laughed at herself, if she hadn't taken that opportunity to do again what she'd done that night: carefully, tentatively, she kissed Rachel's neck. She smiled against Rachel's skin when she sighed, tilting her neck to expose herself.

She was nervous, still, not knowing what they were doing, but Rachel's hands were making smooth, gentle circles over her back and…

Quinn sat back a little, because those smooth, gentle circles were taking her dress along with them, until it was up over her thighs and almost around her waist, and she could feel Rachel's hands pulling the fabric up farther until the girl realized that Quinn's eyes were on hers, and she stopped.

"I—I," Rachel stuttered, then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said shakily. "I just…"

Quinn silenced her with a kiss, her own hands moving from Rachel's hair to that (hideous, she thought) red argyle sweater, fingers toying with the hem as the kiss deepened.

She found herself mesmerized by Rachel's eyes, even as Rachel's hands slipped under her dress and cupped her waist. They were beautiful and chocolate brown, darkened and so wide Quinn could almost see herself in them.

She wondered if it were really possible to be lost in someone's eyes.

She knew that she wouldn't mind, if those eyes happened to be Rachel's, because then Rachel was slipping her tongue into Quinn's mouth and they were tangled together, hands in clothes and mouths crashing together, little shy giggles as their teeth clicked against the other's. And it didn't matter if Quinn's hands were fumbling with that sweater, wanting desperately to pull it off, because Rachel's eyes never left hers, and it was as if there was nothing else in the world but _her_. Rachel and her eyes.

So she couldn't really be blamed for what she did next, because all she could think of were those eyes, and she could see the barest hint of pink – Rachel's skin above that sweater. And Quinn was suddenly tired of just touching fabric, so she pushed up a little higher. Before either of them knew it she had trailed her hand along Rachel's ribs, dragging that sweater along with her fingers, until she was almost at the point of pulling that sweater off, but she stopped, allowing her own eyes to silently ask for permission.

And Rachel nodded.

The sweater was off in an instant and Quinn blinked at the sight of Rachel in just a white lace bra, but she barely had time to take it in before she noticed that Rachel was dragging her dress up even further, and this time it was Rachel who was looking for approval, and it was Quinn who nodded "yes."

Somehow, then, Quinn found herself being eased onto her back as her _dress_ was eased up and off, and Rachel had removed her tights and skirt and was lying next to her, their bodies pressed together and their fingers stroking, gently.

Flesh against flesh. Warmth against the coolness of fingertips.

Quinn couldn't tear her gaze away from Rachel, at the tautness of her stomach, the tan leanness of her legs, and she couldn't help but trail the pads of her fingers over the muscles of Rachel's abdomen, watching as the smaller girl quivered under her touch.

Rachel gasped, and Quinn _found_ herself in that sound, in the way that Rachel leaned herself into the touch, in the way that her own fingers had dug unconsciously into Quinn's spine.

"Is this… is this okay?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Rachel breathed, pressing their lips together again.

Quinn felt Rachel move, slightly, and then it was her turn to gasp as Rachel's hand slid just barely over the expanse of her stomach, southward.

At the sound, Rachel's hand stilled, fingers resting lightly just above the waistband of Quinn's panties.

"Is _this_ okay?" Rachel asked.

"I… I think so," Quinn said, biting her lower lips. "It's just, I've never done this before. With a girl, I mean," she added hastily, because of course Rachel knew she'd been with Puck; they'd _talked_ about it.

Rachel kissed her softly, nuzzling Quinn's cheek with her nose. "I've never," she confessed. "_Ever_. With _anyone_."

Quinn drew back a little, confused. "But… Finn?"

Rachel chuckled a little, but the sound lacked any humor. "Finn has some… problems, let's just say. We've kissed, but that's it. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't perfectly content with that."

"Oh." Quinn swallowed hard, wondering why the knowledge that Rachel still hadn't "gone all the way" with Finn made her feel… curiously happy.

"It's okay, Rachel. It is."

Rachel's mouth was on Quinn's again as the blonde girl felt that warm hand slip higher towards her bra… even higher than Quinn's was on Rachel's body, because when that hand stopped, she could feel the barest touch of fingertips against the underside swell of her breasts.

She _moaned_. Quinn moaned and it was as if her body belonged to someone else, because she had tilted herself upwards into that touch.

She wanted _more_.

"Quinn?" Rachel's voice had hit a lower decibel; her voice was husky, but a little nervous.

Her blonde friend shivered in spite of herself, because Rachel's hands had now moved to her back, stopping at the clasp of her bra.

"I don't know," she murmured. "I just... I don't… know."

"Okay," Rachel said softly. "Can I… can I try something? Do you trust me?"

She knew Rachel could feel her nodding; they were still kissing, slowly and sweetly.

"Okay." Rachel moved her hands higher and gently unclasped Quinn's bra, pulling it off and laying it to the side.

She stared at Quinn for a long moment, making the girl flush uncomfortably, and she tried to cross her arms over herself.

"No," Rachel breathed, holding her forearms. "No… Quinn, you're beautiful."

Now Quinn did blush.

Rachel's hand hovered over Quinn's breast and she swallowed, believing she could feel the heat emanating from Rachel's palm, but knowing that was foolish.

Still, a jolt of something that felt a lot like electricity rocketed through her body, because Rachel took the pad of her thumb, pressed it to Quinn's nipple, and stroked.

"Oh, my _God_," Quinn whimpered. "What was _that_?"

Rachel giggled a little and kissed her. "I don't know. Did it feel good?"

She was nodding vigorously now. _Everywhere_ felt good, at that moment. "Do it again?"

Rachel pressed down more firmly, stroked harder, and she groaned. When Rachel took the stiffened nipple in between her thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently, Quinn crashed their lips together, kissing her hungrily, and Rachel sighed into her mouth.

"Rachel," she managed to choke out, hardly able to focus on anything except Rachel's body, Rachel's fingers, _Rachel_. "What are we doing?"

Rachel hummed low in her throat, her fingers pausing, and Quinn felt frustrated – and confused about _why_ she felt frustrated.

"Well, Quinn, while my knowledge of sexual activity beyond the solo realm is at best minor, given that I am still, unfortunately, a virgin, I believe that what we are doing is called… foreplay."

"Oh," Quinn stilled; her mind had caught one thing in Rachel's entire speech, and her eyes were wide.

"Are we… are we going to have sex?"

"Do you want to?"

"I… I don't know," she mumbled. "I just… it… _you_ feel _so good_, and I just… But you've _never_, and I don't…"

_God, Fabray, speechless much? Get a grip_, she again ordered herself.

"I don't have to, you know," Rachel interrupted, kissing Quinn gently. "This could be just for you."

"No." Quinn surprised herself by the firmness of her voice, and the shake of her head. "If we did... I'd want it to be for you, too. But… your first time should be special. It should be _with_ _someone_ special."

Even if her own hadn't been. Rachel deserved better.

Rachel's hands lifted away from Quinn's chest so she could cradle her face; she kissed her softly, with more softness than Quinn had ever felt in her life.

"It _will_ be," she said.

"But it's up to you. I won't be upset if you say no. I promise."

Quinn paused.

Everything within her was screaming. Her mind was screaming _no, this is __**wrong**__, this is __**sinful**__, this is __**disgusting**_.

Everything else?

Well, her heart and body were only screaming one thing.

_Rachel_.

"I want it," Quinn breathed with her eyes closed. "Please, Rachel."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes…"

Still, she couldn't help the uncertain tone in her eyes, or the way she worried her lower lip in her teeth.

To her surprise, Rachel nodded and smiled.

"It's all right, I understand. I just want you to know, Quinn, you really are like my best friend. And I know you're my only friend, like you say, and we don't even know each other that well, but… but…"

"Rachel?" she queried, turning her face and catching Rachel's mouth with her own.

"But I would never hurt you. I just want you to trust me."

Quinn nodded. "I do, Rachel. I do."

"I need you to promise me things won't get weird, though," Rachel said, finally sounding terribly nervous for the first time that night. "You're my friend, and I don't… want to lose that."

"You won't," Quinn assured her, pulling Rachel closer into her arms. "We'll always be friends, Rachel."

Rachel hesitated; in the light of the room Quinn could see the girl's eyes once again searching her face. Then she nodded.

"Okay," she said, with a little bit more confidence. "Okay."

"Okay," Quinn echoed, and smiled into Rachel's kiss.

And then there was no room for speech or second guessing, because Rachel's fingers were tracing patterns on her breasts and across her stomach, her lips never leaving Quinn's, until those fingers slipped just underneath the waistband of her panties. Rachel felt the muscles of the girl's stomach tighten.

"Quinn," she said carefully. "We can stop, if you need to."

Quinn hesitated, then moved past the point of no return. Circling her fingers around Rachel's wrist, she pushed her hand into her underwear.

They both gasped when Rachel's fingers found wetness; Quinn's gasp turned to a loud moan when Rachel's finger touched her clit, and Rachel kissed her to muffle the sound.

"My dads are home," she whispered. "I know it might be difficult…" She smirked, and Quinn giggled a little.

"But you need to stay quiet."

Quinn just nodded, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, because that finger was now making circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center.

"How does it feel, sweetheart?" Rachel asked. "Does it feel good?"

How _did_ it feel? Rachel's mouth was on Quinn's neck, tonguing her and kissing, little nips of teeth and the gentle slide of lips, while her finger moved wetly over her clit. Quinn had never felt _that_ before, not even… not even by herself.

Because _that_ was wrong.

But _this_, Rachel's mouth, Rachel's hand, that _finger_… it felt…

Amazing.

And wrong.

And she wanted _more_.

Sin and salvation all at once.

"Rachel," she murmured, her hands reaching up to draw the girl further into a kiss. "It feels… really good."

She was a little embarrassed, because at some point her right foot had planted flat on the bed and her legs were spread, but Rachel didn't seem to mind.

"I'm glad," she whispered, and then her finger dipped lower to slowly, very slowly slip inside Quinn.

And for a moment, the girl underneath Rachel was nothing less than totally confused.

Because even though Puck had been heavy and rough, demanding and sweaty, and even though Quinn had been hazy with wine cooler, she was a girl and he was a boy and it was _right_.

_It's what chicks and guys are supposed to do._

Rachel was soft and tender, and Quinn's eyes were screwed tight as if she could block out the fact that her hips were lightly bucking to meet the stroke of Rachel's finger inside her. As if she could somehow forget that it was _wrong_ and _perfect _at the same time, until her mouth opened and she asked for something she'd never before known she wanted.

"Rachel… more?"

The motion of Rachel's hand stilled. "Sweetheart?"

That word hurt Quinn, that word falling so gentle and sweet, from even gentler lips. Wounded her.

Saved her, killed her.

But it was too late now. She was going all out.

"Can I… can I have more?"

"More _what_, Quinn?"

Quinn knew she was blushing, and was even more embarrassed that Rachel could see it.

"More… fingers. Two?"

"Oh!" Rachel said a little too loudly, and they both giggled. "Well, I feel rather stupid now." Quinn kissed her. "Of course."

She felt empty when Rachel's finger left her, but then two entered, and she was full, so full, those fingers curving and rubbing something that…

_Oh, __**God**_**.**

She could feel it welling up in within her, not even knowing what _it_ was, but knowing that if Rachel stopped doing whatever she was doing, she would _kill_ her. Quinn realized that now her hips were moving of their own accord, in a rhythm all their own, and she could feel herself tightening.

She'd never felt this with Puck.

Her hands reached until she found the one of Rachel's that was engaged on her left breast, grabbing it and pressing it against her mouth. Something inside Quinn _let go_, and her back came up off the bed just as she thrust herself into Rachel's other hand so hard that she may have almost thrown the girl off the bed.

But Rachel held on tightly, because unknown to Quinn, the smaller girl was _mesmerized_ by the body underneath her hands. By the tiny quiet mewls from that mouth pressed against her palm. She could just barely see beads of sweat forming on a forehead flushed pink, surrounded by golden blonde curls.

Quinn knew, then, what the girls in the locker rooms talked about, knew why Santana blushed when Brittany revealed something a little too personal. She was _hot_, everywhere. It was as if a snake, coiled tightly in the deepest pit of her belly had suddenly just… struck. She came for a second time on Rachel's fingers, against Rachel's body. She twisted to bury her face in Rachel's neck, sinking her teeth in, eliciting a squeal from the other girl.

She was _terrified_, dropping Rachel's hand to curl herself into the other girl's chest.

Rachel tensed momentarily but then relaxed, carefully withdrawing her fingers and wiping them on her sheets before enveloping Quinn in a hug.

"You're all right," she whispered, dropping little kisses on Quinn's temple. "You're all right, sweetheart, I've got you."

Quinn's entire body was shaking, not just from the force of her orgasm, but from the battle going on in her mind against pleasure and reality. She was humiliated because she felt tears rush to her eyes and trickle down her cheeks, which only made Rachel clutch harder.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I just… that was… Rachel, wow."

Rachel giggled, relieved. "Well, I would have been quite unhappy with myself if your first time with a girl had been disappointing, because what kind of fr—"

Quinn kissed her, cutting her off. "Shut up, Berry."

"But are you really okay?" Rachel said, rocking the girl in her arms.

Quinn nodded. "Really okay. Kind of tired, though. Like I need a nap."

Rachel brushed a strand of hair out of Quinn's face and kissed her. "That's the way you're supposed to feel afterwards," she said, sounding happy. "We can go to sleep if you want to."

Oh, she wanted to. She wanted to curl up in Rachel's arms and just drift off.

She wanted to _wake up_ in Rachel's arms.

But there was a need greater than sleep, and Quinn's hand once again meandered its way over Rachel's skin, fingers dancing over the smooth muscles she found at Rachel's stomach.

She heard Rachel's light intake of breath, and Quinn kissed her. "I don't want to sleep. But if you… if you don't want this—"

"I do," Rachel said firmly. "And I want it with you."

Quinn nodded. "I need your help though," she said, slightly embarrassed. "I don't have… well, I have _no_ experience."

Rachel nodded, running her palm lightly over Quinn's cheek as they kissed. "I don't have much either," she confessed. "But I know what feels good to me, so…"

She nuzzled Quinn's nose with hers. "Don't be scared."

"Has anyone told you that you're an amazing friend?" Quinn whispered, running her tongue lightly over Rachel's collarbone.

"You're the first," Rachel said, her voice breathless and a little high, her fingers tangled in Quinn's hair.

_And the only_.

Quinn smiled against her skin. "Good. Because you are."

Rachel pulled away then, and Quinn paused, fearing she had done something wrong.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you think I'm amazing?"

"I don't know," Quinn shrugged. "I just do."

She knew it was a lame answer. But it was the best she had.

Then it was Quinn's turn to unfasten a bra, gently drawing it off Rachel's shoulder and joining it with hers on the side of the bed. She waited, swallowing hard, meeting Rachel's eyes with her own.

Rachel just smiled and nodded, her mouth falling open a little when Quinn's hand cupped her breast, squeezing gently, the thumb running over her nipple.

And now Quinn was grateful for the light, because she could see Rachel's face, and watch what her ministrations were doing to the girl underneath her. She watched as Rachel's eyelids fluttered closed when her fingers rolled a nipple to hardness, watched the way a dreamy look fell across the smaller girl's face when Quinn placed open-mouthed kisses over her jaw line.

She saw Rachel's eyes widen, her jaw drop, when Quinn's hand slid down her body, moving up her skirt, and stopping at the waistband of her underwear.

"You can still say no, sweetheart," Quinn said, a little amazed at how easily that word came from her mouth.

"I know," Rachel said, and her hips lifted slightly, urging the blonde girl on.

"Rachel… " Quinn tucked her lower lip in between her teeth.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Rachel shook her head and lifted up to kiss her.

"At least if it hurts, it'll be _you_. Please, Quinn."

Still nibbling on her lip, Quinn nodded and slipped her hand into Rachel's panties. Her fingers touched a patch of coarse curls before they found wetness, and she gasped a little.

Rachel was _so wet_.

Had… had _she_ done that?

Quinn's fingers glided further downward, until she parted Rachel, gently, and the pads of her index and middle fingers found what she hoped was Rachel's clit.

Judging by the way Rachel's hips jerked at the sudden contact, Quinn was right.

A smirk that Rachel could only describe as _wicked_ crossed over Quinn's lips, then, and she began to stroke the smaller girl, slowly, tenderly.

"How does that feel?" she asked quietly.

"Mm," Rachel hummed, moving her hips in tandem with the rubbing of Quinn's fingers. "So good, ba—Quinn. So good."

Quinn hesitated, a faint worry in the back of her mind that disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and she turned her focus back to the friend next to her.

Very gently, she maneuvered herself so that she was flush with Rachel, her head on the smaller girl's shoulder.

"Rachel?" she questioned.

She nodded. "I'm ready."

Maybe the girl actually did have a sixth sense, Quinn mused. Her finger was at Rachel's entrance; she leaned over and pressed her lips to her, just as she carefully pushed inside.

Rachel winced, whimpering a little. Quinn stilled her hand, letting her fingers go slack against the brown-haired girl.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, kissing Rachel over and over. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Rachel murmured. "Just give me a second."

Quinn stroked her cheek softly with her free hand. "Of course, Rachel."

Rachel took a deep breath. "I think I'm okay now."

Quinn glanced at her. "Do you want me to…"

Rachel nodded. "Please."

"Okay." She started kissing Rachel again, at the same time that her finger resumed its same slow in-and-out motion. She watched her carefully, relieved when the pain left the girl's face, replaced by a slightly open mouth, eyes scrunched closed in concentration.

She was so pretty, Quinn thought suddenly.

She shoved that as far back as she could.

Rachel's hips had started rocking against Quinn's hand, and she watched, mesmerized. Nestling her head next to Rachel's, so that the girl was moaning into her ear – Quinn couldn't help but shiver – she carefully twisted her finger inside her, so that she was able to press her thumb against Rachel's clit as she pumped her hand.

Suddenly Rachel stiffened and Quinn almost stopped, but Rachel shook her head, unable to speak. She buried her face against Quinn's neck, a long, low moan escaping from her. Quinn's eyes widened when she felt Rachel clench against her finger.

"Oh, my god," she whispered.

"What?" Rachel was barely able to talk because her body hadn't stopped squeezing against Quinn. In fact, it had started up stronger, and she was coming again.

"Did I do something…oh god…. Quinn!"

Quinn drowned Rachel's words with a kiss. "You're fine. You're more than fine. You're… Rachel, you're _perfect_."

Perfect. She was _perfection_.

And Quinn… _Quinn_ had done that to her, had made Rachel _come_.

She had just had sex.

With a _girl_.

She felt sick, but Rachel was cuddled up against her, shuddering with the aftershock of her orgasm. Quinn was helpless to do anything but carefully pull out, wipe her hand on her thigh, and take Rachel into her arms.

"Are you okay?" she asked, brushing her lips against Rachel's sweaty forehead.

Rachel nodded. "Really sleepy."

Quinn smiled. "Maybe you should take a nap."

Rachel nodded again. Feeling Quinn start to pull away, she clung tightly. "Stay?"

"Of course," Quinn murmured, even though it was five p.m. and she really ought to be getting home. But she was sleepy and sated, and a half-naked Rachel lying next to her was far too much temptation. She kissed her again.

"Rachel?"

"Yes?" Rachel was snuggled against her, so close that Quinn wondered if the girl was trying to get under her skin.

She wondered if Rachel was already there.

"Thank you."

For once, Rachel didn't ask. She just smiled against Quinn's neck, kissing it.

"Thank _you_."

"Was it… was it good?" Quinn asked hesitantly.

_Was __**I**__ good?_

Rachel squeezed Quinn's waist. "Better than good. Amazing."

Quinn felt herself beaming. "I'm glad."

"Was I?"

"You were perfect."

Rachel giggled again, and Quinn could almost feel the blush on the smaller girl's cheeks.

"Quinn?"

"Hm?" Her eyes were closing, and sleep was overtaking her. Blissful sleep, with Rachel tucked next to her.

"Love you."

Her eyes snapped open.

Friends sometimes said that to each other, right? She knew B and S did but… again, not really the best example of platonic friendship.

But she _did_ love Rachel. Cared about her, anyway.

And friends cared about each other.

Her brow furrowed, and she chewed her lip uncertainly before responding, the words so soft they were barely discernible.

"You, too, Rach."

Soon the heaviness in her arms told Quinn that Rachel was fast asleep.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, long after the girl had begun lightly snoring.

As the realization of what they had just done hit her, there was a singular thought – a singular prayer – on Quinn's heart.

_Father… forgive me._

Quinn woke up in Rachel's bed at eight, and panicked when she saw her cell phone held two missed calls from home. She'd called, making up a quick excuse about Santana needing _a lot_ of extra algebra help. They'd accepted it and she closed her phone, relieved, only to feel a twinge of guilt when she saw that Rachel was now awake and watching her with sadness still in her eyes.

"I'm not ashamed of you," Quinn said hastily,

Rachel nodded. "Are you ashamed of…" She gestured towards their bodies, still semi-naked and still close enough to each other to almost be one person.

Quinn sighed. "Rachel, we promised it wouldn't get weird."

Rachel shot her a look, but nodded.

"Are you going to tell Finn?" Quinn blurted suddenly.

She didn't miss the guilty expression in Rachel's eyes as the girl turned away and seemed incredibly interested in her desk across the room.

"I don't know yet."

"Do you love him?"

"I don't know that either."

"He's a good guy," Quinn offered. _Even if you deserve better_.

Rachel turned back to her, then, and gave Quinn a small smile. "Yes, Quinn. Finn's a good guy."

"So maybe you shouldn't tell him." She was lazily stroking Rachel's chest with one finger, not sexually, but just… wanting to feel the smaller girl's skin, at the warmth, the tiny little shudders that her touch would cause.

Rachel was… beautiful.

Puck had never been completely naked with her, or Quinn with him. Even those few nights with him, he'd always kept his shirt on, and Quinn had been glad for it. She figured that she should be entranced with Puck's rippling muscles, the broad hardness of his chest and the chiseled angle of his jaw…

But then there was Rachel lying below her, as she propped herself on one elbow to get a fuller look at her. Rachel with her softness, with the smooth plane of her stomach and the gentle swell of her breasts topped by dusky nipples. Her hair was falling into her eyes, and Quinn unconsciously reached up a hand to brush it away, fingers lingering on the girl's forehead, and Rachel smiled at her.

"Why shouldn't I tell him?"

The question surprised her, and Quinn pursed her lips, moving to sit against the headboard, still staring down at Rachel.

"I don't know. I mean… it was just sex, right?"

Rachel's mouth opened and closed momentarily, her normally bright brown eyes becoming clouded, before she became fascinated with her desk again.

"Yeah. It was… just sex."

"Rachel." Quinn scooted down and pressed her lips to the other girl's cheek, again and again until Rachel's face turned and they kissed.

"You're my friend, Rachel, and I don't want to mess that up. I don't want to… complicate things."

"You don't think things are already complicated?" Rachel asked, and Quinn wondered why her voice sounded so tiny.

"I think they'll only be complicated if we let them."

Quinn kept telling herself that as she left Rachel's house a little later, even as the strange expression in Rachel's eyes, and the feeling of Rachel's body against hers, still haunted her as she drove towards home.


	11. Chapter 10

Quinn came into school at her usual time the next morning, smiling when she saw Rachel by her locker.

Rachel, her sixth sense probably telling her that she was being watched, looked over her shoulder and returned Quinn's smile… just as an extra-large cherry slushie hit her in the face.

Quinn glared at the two freshman Cheerios that laughed as they walked past, but she was, for all her popularity, not one of them, and her expression was meaningless. Sighing, she grabbed her books and headed straight for Rachel.

"Want me to help you clean up?"

Rachel shook her head. "No. I kind of… want to be alone."

Quinn furrowed her brow. "Are you all right?"

Rachel smiled as best she could with cherry ice flowing down her hair and into her eyes.

"I'm fine, Quinn. You forget I'm used to this. I'll see you in Spanish."

"Okay," Quinn said uncertainly, as Rachel grabbed her emergency clean-up kit and headed for the bathroom.

She looked around, her eyes coming to rest on Santana, who was talking to Brittany at her own locker. Quinn made a beeline for her.

"Call them off."

Santana looked at her. "What?"

Quinn rolled her eyes; she knew Santana had seen. The captain of the cheerleaders knew everything about her squad, probably down to when they went to the bathroom.

"You're the head bitch in charge," Quinn said firmly. "And I want you to call _your_ bitches _off_. Of Rachel."

"What do you care about Berry?" Santana said, a knowing smirk on her face.

"I.. I don't," Quinn said, momentarily flustered. "But haven't you guys tormented her enough?"

"I told you," Santana said in exasperation, "it's what we do around here."

"Well, you're going to stop," Quinn announced, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring down at the Latina.

Brittany just watched them, a small grin on her face that unnerved Quinn.

"And if I _don't_?" Santana returned, just as strongly, arms coming to cross over her chest.

Quinn smiled sweetly, a glint in her eyes. "Or I walk out of Sylvester's office later on today wearing a uniform. Where's your hierarchy then, Santana? Because trust me, it's always better when _I'm_ on top."

For once in her life, Santana Lopez paled a little. She knew it was true. Tall, blonde, hazel-eyed Quinn, with her familial and societal connections, could dethrone her in a heartbeat. It hadn't sat well with Santana that Sylvester had wanted _Quinn_ as Cheerios captain, when Santana had been right there the whole time, ready and willing to _keep_ the mantle of HBIC.

She knew she was seconds for Sylvester; all it would take would be for Quinn to walk into that office, and Santana's position would be ripped from her in a heartbeat.

And she would _not_ risk that.

"Fine," she said evenly. "From now on, no more slushies for Berry." She grinned then, leaning into Quinn.

"Now _you_ have to do something for _me_."

"What?" Quinn asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"It's a simple thing, really," Santana said, examining her nails. She glanced up at Quinn.

"Admit that you have a thing for Berry."

"Of course I do, she's a friend."

"Santana doesn't mean that," Brittany pointed out. "She knows you like Rachel."

"And as _more_ than a friend," Santana said, her grin expanding to a mocking smile. "Hell, the way you keep looking at her, I'd say you two have bumped uglies already."

"We have not," Quinn said hotly, her growing blush betraying the true answer. "That's a disgusting thing to say."

"She's just a friend, that's all."

"Uh-huh," Santana drawled, pushing herself off her locker with her foot. "Sure." She held out her pinky to Brittany.

"C'mon Britt, let's leave the Queen of Denial here alone with her dreams of a naked Rachel Berry."

Brittany giggled and linked pinkies with her girlfriend, waving at a flabbergasted Quinn as they walked off.

Days later, New Directions travelled out of town for sectionals – and straight into a disaster.

"You leaked the set list!" Kurt snapped. "You don't want to be here, you're just Sue Sylvester's little moles."

"It wouldn't be the first time that Coach Sylvester has spied on people. And we know how much she hates the glee club," Quinn said.

Santana had told her as much, with tales of how she and Brittany had been made to spy on other clubs. And so maybe the Latina huffed at her, but even she knew it was true. Sylvester's hand extended everywhere over that school, and if she perceived something as a threat, she'd stop at nothing to try to destroy it.

"Look, we may still be Cheerios, but neither of us ever gave Sue the set list."

"Well, I – I did," Brittany said, "but I didn't know what she was going to do with it."

Quinn – and the rest of the glee club – stared at the two girls, at Santana who was glaring back at them in defiance, and Brittany, who just looked uncomfortable.

She had reason to – the entire club had been looking forward to sectionals, to proving themselves, for weeks, and now it seemed as if Santana's dim girlfriend had screwed them all.

Since Sylvester had gotten the set list, she'd evidently leaked it to the other two competing schools, which had led to Jane Addams Academy busting out Proud Mary. And then they'd brought the house down with And I Am Telling You, which Rachel, albeit a little grudgingly, had agreed to let Mercedes sing. As if that wasn't bad enough, the Haverbrook School for the Deaf had just wormed their way into the hearts of the audience with their spirited rendition of Don't Stop Believin'. Rachel had seen tears, which had resulted in her screaming for a meeting in the green room.

And now there they were, with an hour to go before their performance… and absolutely no songs to sing.

Quinn glared at Santana, who just glared back.

"Okay, look, believe what you want," the Latina said, "but no one's forcing me to be here. And if you ever tell anyone this I'll deny it… but I like being in glee club."

She sighed, and even with all of her irritation, Quinn felt a tiny (very tiny) pang of sympathy for the head cheerleader.

"It's the best part of my day, okay? I wasn't going to go and mess it up."

Quinn could tell that no one really trusted the cheerleader, and it was even on the tip of _her_ tongue to call Santana out, as the girl made her way to one of the empty chairs and sat down.

But she knew that Santana was telling the truth, knew that the Latina often got lost in the shuffle that was her family, and knew that the best part of her day _would_ be when she'd get to sit back and relax, to be herself and never take her eyes off a tall blonde girl who moved like silver and water when she danced.

Quinn said nothing.

But Rachel surprised them all when she looked down at Santana and said softly, "I believe you."

Then Quinn was waiting for hell to freeze over or lightning to strike her dead, because Santana actually _smiled_ and said "thank you," and instead of the pang of sympathy in her heart there was something like she felt every time she saw Rachel kiss Finn.

Finn, whose arm was now slung casually over Rachel's.

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

She had tuned out the discussion between Rachel and Mercedes, now, both of them trying to figure out what the solo should be, when she felt a sharp jab to her ribs.

"Ow," she almost yelped, and turned towards the source of her pain.

"You look a little green, Q," Santana smirked. "You're not jealous of Finn being all up on your girl, are you?"

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn snapped. "Stop sticking your nose in other people's business and keep a tighter rein on _your_ girlfriend – and who she gives things to."

Luckily, Brittany was sitting with Mike on the couch and hadn't heard their exchange, but nonetheless, Santana stepped closer to Quinn, pinning the girl against the wall with the ferocity of her gaze.

"Listen to me," Santana said softly, and Quinn shivered in spite of herself, because only Santana could make softness seem downright lethal.

"I don't know what kind of game you've got going on with Berry—" She held up her hand when Quinn opened her mouth. "Shut up. Don't you ever say another word about Brittany. Because I don't care how long we've been friends, I will knock your fucking nose off if you say something like that again."

"Fine," Quinn said through gritted teeth. She glanced over and saw that Finn was still snuggling Rachel, his hand rubbing her back as they tried to figure out what other song they could sing besides the solo – which, not surprisingly, had been given to Rachel. The diva's small smile seemed more like a grimace.

"Dude, just tell her how you feel already," Santana grumbled.

"I don't feel anything for her."

"You're full of shit. I think you want her."

"Yeah well," Quinn said, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "You can't always get what you want."

Her heart stilled, not only from what she had said, the casual almost-admittance that she _might_ possibly feel something for Rachel Berry, but also from the remarkably familiar voice that suddenly accosted her from across the room.

"What did you say?"

Quinn opened her eyes to see Rachel staring at her. The rest of the room went silent.

"What?"

"What did you just say to Santana? Something about what you want?"

Quinn paled a little. "Nothing, we were just talking about… something… and I said that you can't always get what you want."

Rachel was quiet for a long moment, then let out an ear-piercing squeal as she rushed over to the bag containing her sectionals costume.

"It's _perfect_," she exclaimed, pulling out a black binder, stuffed with papers.

"What's perfect, baby?" Finn asked, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

Rachel flipped through her binder, eyes wide. "I always carry this notebook around, to make notes on performances and sometimes I have sheet music, just in case a producer or composer should see me and request an impromptu audition…"

She rifled through the papers, ignoring the snickers of her club members, then pulled out several sheets and held them aloft in triumph.

"You _can't_ always get what you want," she said proudly. "But if you try sometimes… well, enough of that. Finn, go find a copier. We can sing this, and, along with my solo – which, I will remind you, I've been working on—"

"Since you were four," the club finished, and Rachel turned pink.

"Yes. With both of these things, we might have a chance at winning."

An hour and several hastily choreographed dance moves later, Quinn stood and watched as Rachel paced back and forth behind the curtains to the auditorium, talking (probably _rambling_) to herself. She watched, her skin prickling, as Finn came up to Rachel and hugged her, then kissed her gently.

She shook her head and tried to stop watching, tried to stop the feeling rising up inside her, the desire to punch Finn and carry Rachel away to… where?

She snickered to herself a little at the idea that she needed to rescue her _friend_ from Finn.

Luckily the music started and Quinn was distracted by the smile that crossed her face when she recognized the exuberant beginning strains of Don't Rain on My Parade.

Leave it to Rachel to have been working on a Funny Girl number since she was four.

Rachel took a deep breath, pulled back the curtain, and proceeded to put her heart – and New Directions – on the line that was her voice.

As much as the glee club picked on Rachel, as much as they were constantly annoyed by her domineering (she would call it _bubbly_) personality, as much as Kurt and Mercedes bitched about Rachel always getting solos… Rachel was the star of glee club. And like it or not, Rachel's solo would be their make it or break it point; if her voice couldn't carry them through, they had no choice of even placing at sectionals and going on to regionals in Columbus.

But none of them should have worried, because her voice was nothing short of mesmerizing. Quinn lost herself so much in Rachel's voice, practically able to SEE Rachel in the role of Fanny Brice that she nearly missed her cue, a soft nudge against her back propelling her forward down one of the aisles.

The crowd was on their feet already, excited by their entrance and buoyed by Rachel's singing, but all Quinn could see was Rachel, on the stage with the lights shining down on her. Her hair was sticking to her face slightly, in little sweaty tendrils that curled and gave her the expression, almost, of a child at Christmas.

And in that simple black dress with its magenta ribbon, Rachel's skin tan and flawless, she was, for lack of a better term, gorgeous. (It was _purely_ because there was no other term for Quinn to use. Not that she actually thought Rachel was gorgeous.) It was amazing to Quinn, really, how much energy and power could come out of a person that small, a person that she could probably tuck in her pocket and carry away forever, if she wanted to.

Of course, she _didn't_ want to. But she could, if she _did_.

Now the crowd was going wild, almost as if they were at a football game rather than simply listening to a 17-year-old singing a song, even if she had _killed_ that song, and hit a note to high and so long that for a brief moment Quinn was seriously afraid for Rachel's lungs. But the crowd was applauding and yelling bravo, and Rachel was gasping for breath and smiling, and everyone in New Directions knew they _had_ this, the chance at something bigger. The chance to _win_.

And Quinn, staring at Rachel from behind with a little half-smile on her face, couldn't stop the pride welling within her, and the thought that crossed her mind.

_That's my Rachel_.

She tried to shove it down in the furthest recesses of her mind, but Rachel was beautiful, Rachel was amazing, Rachel was… there, with the spotlight shining down on her and Quinn chuckled to herself, knowing that that spotlight was as essential to Rachel as blood, as breathing.

She absolutely _glowed_.

And she glowed at _Quinn_, smiling at her as she took her place on the risers, and Quinn smiled back, the music fading and deepening at the same time, the devil and the angel were dancing a minuet in her brain and heart, and she…

_She didn't care_.

She didn't even care when, during You Can't Always Get What You Want, Rachel grabbed Brittany and Tina's hand – hell, she even grabbed _Santana's_ – but didn't grab Quinn's even though she was, hello, _right there_.

It didn't matter, because even though Finn and Rachel were doing that _ridiculous_ spin yet _again_, Rachel caught Quinn's eye on the last turnaround and smiled at her, that soft, special smile which Quinn was pretty sure only _she_ had ever seen…

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Nothing, except Quinn.

Quinn and Rachel.

Until once again it was Finn and Rachel, hugging as the announcer proclaimed that yes, Rachel Berry had come through, and New Directions placed first.

She caught Santana staring at her as she scowled, and Quinn coughed, fixing a smile onto her face. Santana rolled her eyes, causing her blonde friend to blush.

She decided to make one last stop in the bathroom before the bus carried them back to Lima, and Quinn was at the sinks washing her hands when the door opened, and a breathless Rachel practically bounced inside, no longer clad in her costume, but wearing a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt.

Quinn thought she looked even lovelier, pink-cheeked and excited, looking as if she'd just won the entire world.

Maybe she had, Quinn told herself, as she remembered a solitary little girl, lonely and sad on the swing of an elementary school playground.

Quinn grinned. "Happy?" she joked.

"Is it that obvious?" Rachel asked, her smile growing wider when Quinn arched an eyebrow at her.

"You were fabulous out there, Rach," Quinn said, drying off her hands and tossing the towels into the trashcan.

"So were you," Rachel beamed, and practically ran forward to crush Quinn in a hug.

"We _won_, Quinn!"

She opened her mouth to say something, but her split second hesitation was just enough for Rachel to bring their lips together, her arms wrapping around Quinn's waist and holding her close.

"Rachel," Quinn managed to breathe, in between kissing her, "Finn…"

Rachel sagged a little, resting her head against Quinn's chest with her hands fisted in the back of her shirt.

"I know… I just…"

"You just what?" Quinn asked, unable to stop herself from cupping Rachel's chin with her hand, raising the girl's face to look at her.

Rachel shrugged, flushing pink. "I just wanted to kiss you. And we said… we said it was… just kissing."

Quinn tried to swallow around the peculiar lump that had risen up in her throat, and nodded a little. Ducking her head, she kissed Rachel softly, smiling into the other girl's mouth when she sighed.

"Rachel," Quinn said suddenly. "Come to my house."

Rachel broke apart, staring at her, eyes wide with shock and confusion. "Your house?"

"Yeah," Quinn laughed. "I do have one, you know."

Now it was Rachel's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I know _that_," she said. "It's just… your parents?"

"They'll be gone for the weekend," Quinn said, a little ashamed of the fact that she still had to hide her friendship with the little diva. "So we have the house to ourselves. We can even watch musicals."

She smirked when Rachel let out a little squeal. "I'll provide all the entertainment!"

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Quinn drawled, then blinked. "I didn't mean it that way," she added hastily.

Rachel stared at her. "I didn't take it that way," she said, "but of course now that you mention it…"

"There you are," Mercedes said, and Rachel and Quinn jumped apart as she came into the bathroom. "Schue says come on, it's time to go." She furrowed her brow. "You two okay? You look… weird."

"We're fine," Quinn said. "I was just talking to _Berry_."

She failed to notice Rachel wince, as she breezed out of the bathroom behind Mercedes.


	12. Chapter 11

Quinn watched in amusement as Rachel surveyed her living room, her eyes full of wonder and a little confusion.

"Surprised, Berry?" This time, the word was affectionate on her lips, and Rachel turned towards her with a smile.

"I always wondered how the other half lived," Rachel confessed. "Your house is like…"

"A museum?" Quinn finished with a half-smile, half-grimace.

It was true. Her mother loved antiques, but not the way Patrick and Rob did. (Quinn was a little unnerved at the comparison.) Where Rob and Patrick had pieces of furniture and décor that showcased every part of their little family's personality – including Rachel, if the old-style gramophones and vinyl copies of musicals were any indication – Mrs. Fabray's love of antiques was for the showcase itself. The walls and tables were lined with knickknacks, expensive baubles whose value was only to garner ooh's and aah's from visitors.

The only _personal_ touches in the house were a few pictures of the family here and there, but even those seemed to take a backseat to the _money_ and status that the Fabray house represented.

"Not even that," Rachel said softly, regarding Quinn with something like sympathy. "At least a museum has heart."

Quinn winced, and Rachel shook her head, moving to squeeze her hand. "I didn't mean it that way," she offered. "It's just…"

"No, I get it," Quinn sighed. "Let's go up to my room and watch a movie."

"Do you have plastic on the bed?" Rachel teased, grinning again. "Just in case you're worried I might dirty up your furniture."

"Of course not," Quinn snapped. "I'll wash the sheets after you leave though." She blinked, yet again, and wondered when in the hell she started speaking in double entendres.

Her reward, though, was Rachel bursting out into her sweet, musical laughter, shaking her head as she still clutched Quinn's hand, allowing the girl to drag her upstairs.

"Now this is more like it," Rachel said, hands on her hips as she looked at Quinn's room. "Well, except for _him_." She pointed to the Sacred Heart of Jesus above Quinn's bed, looking at the blonde girl with an expression that Quinn couldn't quite place.

"My dad's idea?" she said with a shrug. "Abbie's got one over her bed, too."

"Uh-huh," Rachel said slowly, still staring at the picture as if she expected the mighty hand of Jesus to fly out and bitchslap her. "You think he's cool with a Jewish girl being in this room?"

"Jesus _was_ Jewish, Berry," Quinn said with a giggle. "So shut up."

Rachel looked at her, and Quinn's breath caught in her throat at the darkness in her eyes.

"Make me."

Quinn smirked and Rachel yelped as her hands shot out and shoved the smaller girl onto the bed, Quinn climbing in alongside her.

"Tell me something, Berry," Quinn whispered, her lips pressed close to Rachel's ear, smile deepening when the girl shivered. "Are you ticklish?"

"No!" Rachel gasped. "I'm not, really, I'm not!"

"Sure?" Quinn said. She tilted her head, then ran a fingertip over Rachel's shirt, just above her ribs. She laughed when she was rewarded with a shiver, and Rachel trying to bat her hands away.

"I think you are."

As Rachel groaned and Quinn threw back her head to laugh, she pounced.

Rachel squirmed, Quinn tickled, until finally, frustrated, Rachel grabbed Quinn's arms and _yanked_, resulting in Quinn falling completely on top of her.

Quinn's breath stilled, and this time, Rachel smirked.

"I win," she whispered, just before tilting her head up, and capturing Quinn's mouth with hers.

She _had_ planned on watching musicals. Quinn knew that Rachel had at least five of them in her backpack, which lay forgotten on her bedroom floor. She'd planned on going downstairs and fixing popcorn, bringing up waters and soda, and then curling up with Rachel on the bed to enjoy the weekend.

But in minutes their clothes had somehow become discarded on the floor, and Quinn was too distracted by Rachel's sweaty, warm bare skin against hers, and she realized… screw musicals.

Especially when Rachel had flipped their positions, and now she was on top of Quinn, with her thigh pressed directly against Quinn's center.

Quinn gasped, partly from the contact, and partly because she'd opened herself for more contact, her eyes glued to those of the small diva above her.

"You want it?" Rachel asked huskily, and Quinn could only nod.

"But I don't…know how?"

Rachel smiled and dipped her head to kiss her again. "It's okay."

Slowly, keeping her eyes locked on Quinn's, Rachel slid her hands under the blonde girl's rear end, then gently began to move her along her thigh.

Quinn moaned at the sensation, embarrassment flushing her face when she realized she had begun rocking her body against the other girl, completely devoid of any sort of rhythm. She was wet, she was so wet, she could feel it on Rachel's skin, and she wanted to hide her face.

"No," Rachel whispered, pulling Quinn's hands away and kissing her gently. "Don't hide, please? Quinn, you're beautiful."

Rachel kept murmuring it, over and over, as Quinn thrust herself onto her thigh, kept whispering it into her ear as her fingers moved deftly, first over Quinn's breasts and nipples, then down between her legs to move against her clit in small, quick circles.

"Rachel," Quinn whimpered, her eyes slamming shut as she felt that snake in her belly slowly begin to uncoil, "Rachel, I'm—" She went rigid and the snake struck, even as Rachel held herself up above Quinn with one unsteady hand, the other still working against her center, thrusting one more time as Quinn came.

"Rachel," she gasped, trying desperately to come back down from her high. "Rachel…"

Rachel folded Quinn into her arms and Quinn snuggled into her. "Are you okay?"

It took her a moment to regain her breath, but when she did, Quinn grinned, an almost evil glint appearing in her eyes as she dipped her hand to find Rachel's center, and the girl rocked against her with a grunt of surprise.

"Do you want it?" she asked, mimicking Rachel's sultry tone.

"You know I do," Rachel breathed, her eyes fluttering closed when Quinn's fingers found her clit.

"Please… Quinn…"

There was no more talk, then, because Quinn was more sure of herself than she had been that first time, and now she was confident enough to explore. Her fingers moved over and into wetness, and she watched Rachel, watched as how the girl's eyes rolled back in her head when Quinn thrust faster, saw how Rachel's lips curled in frustration when Quinn slowed her pace, only to thrust harder into her and make Rachel cry out in pleasure.

It didn't take long for Rachel to start mumbling "don't stop, god, don't stop, don't stop." Quinn was pumping her fingers while thumbing the girl's slick clit, and she would be forever grateful that her parents weren't home because there was no sound more gorgeous at that moment than Rachel Berry _screaming_ for _Quinn_ as she came.

Rachel sagged against her and Quinn carefully withdrew her fingers, wiping them on the sheets (she really _would_ have to change them, after all) and cuddling Rachel close to her.

"Was that," Rachel managed, breathing heavily, "was I—"

Quinn nodded. "I just… damn. You're amazing." She lifted her hand to caress Rachel's cheek, kissing her gently. "How are you so amazing?"

Rachel smiled. "I guess it's because I love you so much."

Quinn pulled back as Rachel froze. "You what?"

"Nothing," Rachel said hurriedly. "Forget it."

"No, I won't forget it!" Quinn sat up, pulling the sheets around herself. "You said you _love_ me!"

"Of course I do," Rachel said, not looking at Quinn as she pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. "You're my best friend."

There was something hollow in the way she spoke, and Quinn reached out to touch Rachel's naked back, her heart stinging when the girl jerked away.

"Rachel… we said it wouldn't get weird."

Rachel snorted. "I know."

"I don't understand," Quinn said miserably. "We said… it was just kissing. It's just sex."

_It isn't. It's so much more._

Rachel sighed and got up, finding her discarded clothes and beginning to dress herself.

"You stopped the slushies."

Quinn drew back a little in shock. "Yeah. So?"

"So I've been slushied or thrown into the dumpster every day at school since I was twelve, Quinn. And now, all of a sudden, they've stopped. Because _you_ made them stop."

"I still don't get it."

"Of course you don't," Rachel muttered. She turned to look at Quinn. "You know as well as I do that it's not just kissing anymore. It's not just sex."

She didn't _want_ to know that. She _couldn't_ know that. She was _straight_.

There was no way she was in love with Rachel Berry.

"So you _do_ love me." The words came out harsher than she expected.

To her surprise, Rachel looked straight into her eyes, and nodded.

"I love you, Quinn."

"Since _when_?" She took a deep breath, trying to fight the rage and fear that was threatening to well up and explode.

Rachel smiled sadly. "Since before our first time."

"What?" Quinn blinked in shock.

"I think I've always had a crush on you," Rachel said. "Since I saw you on the playground that night in sixth grade. Since I saw what your middle name was, in the seventh grade yearbook. Since you were my friend when no one else has ever dared to be."

"So wait," Quinn said slowly, realization creeping into her addled mind. "This has been part of your plan all along, hasn't it?"

"My plan?" Rachel said, cocking her head at Quinn. "What plan?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me!" Quinn snapped, climbing out of bed and moving to stand in front of Rachel, not caring that she was still naked. "You _planned_ this. Us hanging out together, kissing, having… doing _this_. Have I been on your _agenda_ all this time, Berry?"

"Quinn," Rachel backed up, looking like she had that day after the celibacy club meeting – frightened. If Quinn hadn't been so angry, she'd have deflated, immediately, and comforted the girl. But she was beyond that, now.

She wasn't even angry. She was terrified.

"I don't know what kind of agenda you're talking about."

"You seduced me," Quinn hissed. "You wanted me all along, and so you… put your arms around me and _seduced_ me. Even got me into your bed. That's what you wanted from the beginning, wasn't it? You never wanted to be just _friends_. Is that what you gay people do, Berry? Try to lure people into your agenda?"

"Oh my god," Rachel whispered, staring at Quinn with wide eyes. "You don't honestly believe that gay agenda shit, do you?"

When Quinn didn't answer, she started to laugh.

"Quinn, the gay agenda? I'm pretty sure it consists of figuring out what to have for dinner on any given night, what movies to watch, what we should buy at the grocery store—"

"So you admit it," Quinn interrupted. "You're gay."

"So what if I am? It seems that you are, too."

"I am _not_!" Quinn balled her hands into fists. "I am not like _you_. I am not _gay_."

"And yet you kissed me. You slept with me. You took my _virginity_, Quinn. But you're not gay?"

"No. I could never be like _that_."

"Like what? In love with a girl? In love with me?"

"I'm not in love with you, Rachel," Quinn said. Finally becoming aware that she was still naked, she pulled her bathrobe from her closet and wrapped it around herself, realizing that she was shaking.

Rachel sighed and moved so that she was standing against the far wall of Quinn's room, staring at her.

"Do you remember that day in the celibacy club meeting? How angry I made you at the things I said?"

Quinn managed to smile a little, and nodded.

"And do you remember the first couple of verses I recited? The one about 'keep me like a seal on your heart'?"

She nodded again. She heard a whimper and looked up, her mouth dropping when she saw the tears streaking down Rachel's cheeks.

"I know we said it was just kissing. I know we said it wouldn't get weird. And I'm sorry, Quinn, but it's not just kissing for me. And it did get weird… because I love you. I'm _in love_ with you."

Quinn sat on the edge of her bed, twisting her hands in her lap, saying nothing.

"And… you've sealed my heart, Quinn, I don't know how, and I don't know when, and I sure as hell don't know _why_, but my heart's closed and only you've got the key. But what about you? Your heart is so closed off, like you're afraid to let anybody in. Who's got the key, Quinn? Is it a guy, or, god and daddy forbid, a girl?"

Quinn shook her head, her own eyes filling with tears that dripped down onto her clasped hands. Almost as if she was praying.

Above the bed, Jesus leered disapprovingly at her.

"I don't have an _agenda_, Quinn. I never did. I just… I'm a girl. Who met a girl. Who thinks that girl is the most amazing girl in the world. I love you. And I just wish… I just wish you'd _open_ the seal on _your_ heart, and let me in."

"I can't," Quinn sniffed.

"You can."

"Rachel… you need to leave."

"Can you tell me that you don't want me?"

"Rachel, please, don't."

"Tell me you don't want me, and I'll go."

"I don't want you."

"You're lying."

"Dammit, Rachel," Quinn exploded then, hitting her thigh with her fist. "So you've got it all figured out, huh?"

"I had it figured out that night I called you Juliet on the school playground. Since I was twelve years old, you've been my Juliet."

"Have you even _read_ that play?" Quinn asked, bewildered. "They _die_, Rachel, and I'm pretty sure _I_ would die, if my parents found out about any of this! I'm not like you, Rachel, I'm not _gay!_"

"Quinn—"

"Get out."

She wondered how her voice had become so hard, so cold; apparently, Rachel was wondering the same thing, judging by the surprised way she was staring at her.

"Quinn—"

"Get. Out. I don't like you, I don't want you, I will never want you. I'll never be like you, I'll never be _gay_."

Maybe if she said it enough times…

Over and over again, the words crossed her lips.

"I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay…"

By the time she stopped saying it, Rachel was gone.

Quinn hadn't even heard her leave. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her sobs, echoing in her bedroom as Jesus watched.

Downstairs, Rachel could hear her crying, her own face still shining with tears and her hand trembling, as she turned the doorknob and left Quinn behind in an empty house.


	13. Chapter 12

She'd waited three days, at least. Three days of Rachel haunting her like a damn _midget_ ghost.

A beautiful one.

All it had taken was a text message.

"I knew you'd want me again," Puck said smoothly, sliding down his zipper.

Quinn smiled coyly. "Who can resist Puckzilla, right?"

He grinned and positioned himself on top of her. "Nobody can, baby."

"Except Santana and Brittany," Quinn pointed out, more to reassure herself than to insult Puck.

They were gay. They could resist him.

She _wasn't_. She didn't have to.

Right?

"You're the only one that matters tonight," Puck said with a smile, his hand moving down to cup her, his finger circling her clit.

Her eyes snapped shut.

Puck's finger. Rough and unrelenting.

Rachel's finger, soft and…

No.

"Puck," she breathed, moving herself against him. "That feels…"

Like nothing.

"…So good."

"I always am." His finger moved faster, Quinn moved her hips in rhythm.

God, was he always this arrogant?

Of course he was.

He smashed their lips together, his tongue forcing her mouth open and slipping inside.

Rachel's mouth, tender and searching…

_No_.

"Do you… do you have…" She hoped her uncertainty sounded like arousal.

He pulled away from her with a feral smile. "Eager, aren't we?" he sneered as he pulled the condom package out and tore it open, slipping on the condom.

"I want you," she said simply.

She _did_.

She wasn't _gay_.

"You want it, I'll give it, baby."

This was _ridiculous_. She didn't _want_ this.

She _did._

It was what guys and chicks were _supposed_ to do.

She moaned when he entered her, less from the sensation than from the… strength of it. She closed her eyes as he began to move inside her.

His body was heavy against her, grunts and growls leaving his mouth as he thrust.

Rachel.

Rachel's fingers.

Rachel's tongue against her neck, her teeth against her ear as her fingers thrust, rapid and then slow then back again, Rachel's thumb dragging torturous circles on her clit. Rachel's breath against her skin.

Puck, inside her, moving faster, hands under her hips lifting her up into each thrust.

Rough, his eyes closed in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead.

Sweat on Rachel's forehead, her mouth open in a soft "O," her body moving in time with Quinn's. Tender words whispered in her ear, reverent touches all over her body, Rachel in her, around her, above her, within her…

"Oh, God," Quinn choked out, feeling her body begin to clench. "Oh god… Puck!"

She managed to gasp out his name just in time, to stave off the syllables of someone else's.

He followed her a split second later, then grinned drowsily as he pulled out and fell next to her on the bed.

"That," he said lazily, a note of triumph on his voice, "shows you just how amazing the Puckasaurus can be."

"Amazing," Quinn echoed. "Yeah." She turned away from him and stared at the wall, her heart aching more than her body.

With Puck, it really _was_ just sex, and two days later, Quinn couldn't figure out if she was relieved or annoyed by this fact.

"So I'll see you after glee?"

Quinn looked at him, at the possessive way he leaned up against the locker next to hers with his arm around her, her face scratching against the material of his letterman jacket.

"We could go for a repeat of the other night."

Quinn shook her head. "I'm not sure about that, Puck."

"You _felt_ sure the other night."

"Ugh, you can be so gross," she muttered, pulling out her books and slamming her locker door.

She looked at him. "We're not dating," she said firmly.

"Never said we were, babe," he smiled. "It's just sex, after all."

_It's just sex_.

She felt sick.

"We'll talk later." Puck grinned and leaned down, brushing a kiss against her lips and strode away.

She had to resist the urge to wipe her mouth.

When she looked up, she saw Rachel standing at her locker, along with Finn. They seemed to be… arguing.

"You can't just break up with me and not tell me _why!_"

She wasn't eavesdropping, it's just that Finn's voice was so loud and she would have heard it anyway. Even if she hadn't been inching closer while pretending she was just walking down the hall.

And besides, a couple of other students had stopped to stare, and Rachel's voice was alarmed.

"Keep it down, Finn!"

"Not unless you tell me what's going on."

"It's just… it's not working out, Finn," Rachel said helplessly. She looked around, and her gaze fell on Quinn. Her eyes narrowed.

"How's it not working out?" Finn asked in exasperation. "I mean, I call you when you want me to, I walk with you to your classes like you want me to, I haven't pressured you for sex again since that time, and I've been trying to work on my… _problem_, so I don't get it."

Rachel shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Finn. I just can't anymore."

The tall quarterback actually kicked a locker as Rachel walked away from him, making a beeline straight for Quinn.

"You really shouldn't listen to other people's conversations, Quinn Fabray. It's rude, and it's none of your business."

"Why'd you break up with Finn?" she asked abruptly.

"I'm sorry, did you not hear the part where I said it's none of your business?"

"Fine," Quinn sighed. "You're right. And anyway, I don't care."

"Of course you don't," Rachel said. Then, to her surprise, she smiled at Quinn.

"But if you must know, Quinn, I broke up with Finn because unlike you, I know what I want. See you in glee."

She walked off then, and Quinn was left to once again stare after someone, totally confused.

Later that day Quinn strode purposefully into the choir room, flopping down into the seat next to Santana with a grunt.

The head cheerleader glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

Quinn shook her head, ignoring her question.

Santana just shrugged, but Rachel chose that moment to walk into the room, her eyes briefly meeting Quinn's, before she sat in a seat on the lowest riser. Santana glanced from Quinn, then to Rachel, and back to Quinn.

"Don't," Quinn blurted out when she saw Santana on the verge of saying something. "Just _don't_."

"Fine," Santana said through gritted teeth. "God, this is just like the L Word."

Schuester came in then, effectively changing the Latina's focus, and Quinn was grateful. She couldn't concentrate on anything but the brunette in front of her: the stiff way that Rachel was sitting in her chair, one knee bouncing nervously up and down, a hand toying with a strand of her hair…

That's when Quinn realized it.

Rachel looked like she was up to something.

And if her rotten luck of the past week held, it'd be about _Quinn_.

She briefly wondered if anyone would notice if she ran out the door.

But she sat, glued to her seat, even as Schuester asked if anyone had anything to sing about that week's theme.

Risk.

And as usual, Rachel's hand went up immediately.

_Great_.

If the little brunette heard the collective groan that went up over her usual eagerness to be first at everything glee-related, she pretended not to hear it as Mr. Schuester once again gave her center… floor… to start them off.

Rachel stood up, turned around… and locked her eyes with Quinn's.

Just___great_.

"As I was doing my research for this week's theme, and examining my extensive library of songs in order to find an appropriate expression of my feelings, I started to think about what exactly risk is, and what is the biggest risk that a person could take in their life. And I've decided that the biggest risk of all…."

Rachel took a deep breath. "Is love. That's what this song is about: taking a chance on love."

This time Quinn slapped Santana's thigh when the Latina decided to elbow her in the ribs. The sound ricocheted off the quiet walls, and she caught Rachel momentarily lose focus, before her eyes cleared and she found that part of herself that Quinn had started to know so well, before everything…

The part of Rachel that lived inside music.

_Don't know much about your life_

_Don't know much about your world but_

_Don't want to be alone tonight_

_On this planet they call earth_

Oh, God.

Rachel's voice flowed around her, through her, as Quinn began to absorb the words, realizing that this was Rachel's way of… _asking_ her.

She didn't want it.

But she was powerless to leave, Rachel's eyes and that _voice_ holding her as if she were trapped in a net.

_You don't know about my past_

_And I don't have a future figured out_

_And maybe this is going too fast_

_And maybe it's not meant to last_

Rachel's eyes were filled with tears, her face full and pleading as she came forward into Quinn's line of sight, oblivious to the confused (except for Santana) stares of her fellow club members. Brad's piano-playing was sweet and gentle, complementing her as Rachel Berry put her heart on her sleeve for everyone to see, and Quinn just watched.

_But what do you say to taking chances?_

_What do you say to jumpin' off the edge?_

Rachel was directly in front of her now, holding out her hand as if in supplication.

Begging Quinn.

_Never knowin' if there's solid ground below_

_Or a hand to hold? Or hell to pay?_

_What do you say? What do you—_

Quinn's answer to Rachel's plea was simple: she ran.

She jumped up and managed to almost trip over a chair in her hasty exit, but she didn't care. The few students that lingered after school for whatever reason ignored her as she ran to the bathroom and flung open the door. The bathroom was empty and she clutched onto the sink, struggling to hold herself up.

She felt as if she was suffocating, choking; Quinn tried to steady her breathing but could feel nothing but the tears rolling down her cheeks and into her mouth, nothing but the violent way her body was trembling as she tried to anchor herself, tried to get her mind away from the one thought that kept assaulting her.

Rachel.

Rachel's eyes, eager and hopeful, expecting and wondering.

Rachel's lips, full and beautiful as she sang.

That _voice_.

That voice that could make Quinn feel so lost, and so found and protected at the same time.

Heaven and hell all at once. The dance with an angel, as a gorgeous devil laughed in her ear.

"Quinn."

She whirled around, the words leaving her before she could stop them.

"How _could_ you?"

Rachel blinked at her. "I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"Thought _what_?" Quinn was practically hissing now, trying to find a perfect balance between righteous anger and a breaking heart. "Thought that I would run into your arms afterwards? That I'd proclaim my undying love for you? Thought that we'd leave McKinley and run off to New York together? Got a horse, Berry? Is that what we were going ride off—"

Rachel's lips crashed into hers, the force of it propelling them both backwards into the wall, the smaller girl bracing herself against Quinn with her hands on the wall, on either side of her.

Quinn tangled her hands in Rachel's hair, yanking hard as she pressed their mouths harder together, and Rachel whimpered in pain but didn't move. Quinn took advantage of the sound to slip her tongue inside, and only drew back with realization when Rachel nipped at it with a low growl.

They stared at each other, Quinn's hands still in Rachel's hair, Rachel's lips looking bruised, and her eyes wide and bright.

"To answer your question," Rachel said, breathing heavily, "yes."

Quinn pushed her away, then, but Rachel anchored herself against the wall once more, glaring at her.

"No, Rachel."

"No?" Rachel said, tilting her head, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. "Kiss me one more time, and see if you can say no to us again, Quinn."

"Rachel, I'm not _gay_…"

Rachel slapped the wall in frustration and grabbed Quinn's face in her hands, once again bringing their lips together. Quinn whimpered, trying to resist the urge to push herself onto Rachel again; she was wet and wanting and it was _wrong_ and she couldn't…

But her hands were on Rachel's face and Quinn was crying as she stroked her cheeks, never wanting to let go even as she knew she had to.

"I know you love me," Rachel said, kissing Quinn hungrily, her own tears mingling with those of the blonde girl.

"I don't," she sobbed, still clutching at Rachel's face and kissing her back while needing, more than anything, to push her away.

"You _want_ to."

"I _can't_!"

"Why _not_?" Rachel drew back then, throwing up her hands. "Quinn, this is not rocket science! I know you could love me, and I _know_ I love _you_. What else is there?"

"_What else is there_?" Quinn asked with exasperation, wiping her eyes and glaring at Rachel.

"Not everyone has it as easy as you do, Rachel."

Rachel shot her an incredulous look, wordlessly reminding Quinn of the girl's last five years of life, and she sighed.

"I meant, not everyone has a family like yours. Accepting and loving. My parents, my family…"

"I can be your family."

"I can't give them up!" Quinn tried to calm the hysteria creeping into her voice.

"Rachel," she said softly, "I'm not like you. I'm not strong, I'm not… brave. I can't lose my family. I wouldn't know what to do."

Rachel seemed to deflate then, fidgeting her hands in the hem of her blue button-up shirt, tugging at the waistband to her jeans. She turned away from Quinn and regarded herself in the mirror, at her tearstained face, her swollen lips, at the mark on her neck just above her shoulder, where Quinn had, at some point, sunk her teeth in.

There'd be a bruise later.

"So that's it, then," Rachel said quietly.

She wouldn't look at Quinn, and somehow that made it even worse.

"Rachel…"

"This isn't about you not loving me," Rachel said in wonder, as if she had just realized it.

She ran water into her hands, splashing her face, then wiping it with a paper towel before she faced Quinn again.

Her face was resolute, firm… cold.

"Rachel," Quinn tried again, alarmed at the empty expression on the girl's face.

"This has nothing to do with you being in love with me, and everything to do with you being a _coward_," Rachel suddenly seethed.

Quinn's eyes widened and she took a step back.

"You're a coward, Quinn Fabray," Rachel snapped. "I thought you were different, but in the end, you're still an eleven-year-old girl, willing to sacrifice your happiness so that you don't upset _daddy."_

"That isn't fair!" Quinn exclaimed, the words stinging her.

"I don't care what's fair to you anymore," Rachel shook her head and sighed.

Approaching Quinn, she lifted her hand and cupped the girl's cheek, a little bit of the emotion and love returning to her eyes as she smiled softly, sadly at her.

"Be happy, Quinn. Be happy with your daddy and your judgmental God. And if you ever want to know real love… come find me. I'll probably still be waiting for you."

Rachel walked out the door, leaving a startled, wounded girl behind, tears still dripping out of her hazel eyes.


	14. Chapter 13

She'd spent the last two hours crying face-down on her bed.

Neither her father nor her mother had come in to check on her, even though Quinn had heard them walk by her room at least twice.

It was comforting, she supposed, that the Fabray tradition of ignoring anything but excellence was allowing her to break in peace.

It had been three days.

Rachel hadn't talked to her since.

Hadn't even looked at her.

Hadn't walked to class with her, hadn't shared lunch with her, hadn't sent her text messages in class.

Quinn had lasted two days of feeling like Rachel's eyes were constantly on her, searing a reproachful hole into her even as they still looked hopeful for forgiveness.

Friday morning she'd gone downstairs to tell her parents that she didn't feel well and wouldn't be going to school. Her father was working out, and her mother was still hung over. So she'd just gone back up to her room and locked her door, trying not to feel Rachel under her skin.

And so she cried. And wished for someone to talk to.

Quinn thought back to that day long ago in church, when she was just a little girl. The foul words from the pastor's mouth, her mother's shocked look. Her father's arms secure and safe around her.

Her sister's rolled eyes, pursed lips, bored and cynical even at the age of twelve.

Sighing heavily, Quinn picked up her cell phone and dialed the third person on her contact list.

The other end picked up on the second ring. "Baby sister!"

Quinn smiled. "Hey, Abbie."

"To what do I owe the honor of you calling me at… 1:45 in the afternoon, when I should be in class but I'm skipping to try to get this hot Starbucks' guy's phone number? Don't tell Daddy, by the way."

Her sister laughed. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good. I knew there was a reason I let Mom and Daddy keep you. But seriously, you okay?"

Quinn swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "I'm in trouble, Abbie."

"How far along are you?"

Quinn blinked. "I'm not pregnant."

"How much do you need for bail?"

"Abbie! I'm not in jail, either."

"And I am out of guesses, Quinn, plus the Starbucks guy is wearing a rainbow upside down triangle pin, which means I'm also out of luck _and_ five dollars. On the upside, this macchiato is to _die_ for. Care to tell me what's going on, please?"

"I don't… I don't know how to."

Her voice was soft, quiet, scared.

As always, her sister picked up on it.

"Quinn. You know you can tell me anything. I'm not Dad."

She heard a car door open, then slam shut again, and finally, silence as her sister waited patiently.

"I know. I'm just… I don't want you to hate me."

"Hey," Abbie said firmly. "Sisters from the cradle to the grave, remember? Look, you've got my attention and no one else is around. Talk to me, baby girl."

Quinn ducked her head, even though Abbie couldn't see her, and was ashamed that tears were now dripping off her nose.

"Abbie… I think I might be gay."

The words hung in the air; Quinn felt as if the ground were set to drop beneath her.

She'd said it, for the first time. Her greatest fear, perhaps her deepest truth.

Now there was nothing left, but to wait for the fallout.

She was again met with utter silence. Quinn clenched her free hand into a fist, nails digging into her palm, as she finally let the tears take over completely. She'd said it aloud. She'd released the curse into the air, and now it was coming to rest, hard and unrelenting, on her shoulders. The devil was on her back, and she'd given him permission.

Quinn curled up on her bed and cried, the silent phone still clutched tightly in her hand.

When Abbie spoke, her voice was unlike Quinn had ever heard before: gentle, full of sympathy and pain.

"Oh, _baby_."

That only made Quinn cry harder, and she had to bite her hand, not wanting her parents to hear her still, even if she knew they wouldn't ask. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, and in between the thoughts of wishing Abbie was there, wishing her sister could hug her and soothe her… Quinn was also wishing for Rachel.

For the scent of freesia floating around her, for tender arms holding her, for brown sparkling eyes that made everything else slip away, made everything seem _right_.

But _right_ was gone, and Quinn was lost.

"Quinn? Quinn," Abbie said, more firmly.

"Yeah," she managed to squeeze out in between her tears. "I'm here."

"Who is it?"

Quinn blinked again. That wasn't the question she had expected. "Um…"

"'Um'?" Abbie's voice had regained some of its humor, but she was still speaking softly. "Some girl has my little sister's heart going pitter-patter, I want to know who it is. If it's Santana I'm coming home to kick your ass."

Quinn actually laughed, swiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "No, it's not Santana. She's in love with Brittany anyway." She sighed. "Do you remember Rachel Berry?"

"Short, hideous fashion sense, obnoxious like whoa, best voice this side of the hemisphere?"

"That's the one." Quinn smiled, thinking about her.

"God, I bet you have the cheesiest grin on your face right now."

Quinn snorted.

"What are you going to do, Quinn?"

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"I take it Mom and Dad don't know, because you're talking to me, and not locked up in a convent somewhere. So when did this happen?"

"I don't know," Quinn said again, drawing her knees up and staring at the ceiling. "I just… we're friends, you know? Even though Daddy said we couldn't be, because of Rachel's dads. And then one night I stayed over at her house, and… yeah. Stuff happened. Then more stuff kept happening. And now I can't stop thinking about her, but we had a fight and I said… awful things to her, Abbie. Now she hates me. I have no idea what to do. I'm so scared."

"Are you in love with her?" Abbie asked.

Quinn shrugged, even though her sister couldn't see it. "I just know that no guy has ever made me feel the way she does. Infuriated and excited all at the same time. Like I want to shove her down a flight of stairs one minute, and up against the wall the next." She giggled a little, embarrassed.

"And I know it's wrong, and I've been praying to God every night, asking Him to take this sin away from me, but He's not lis—"

"It's not a sin, little sister."

Quinn dropped off, shocked. "W-what?" she stuttered.

"You know, Quinn," Abbie mused. "You've always been the one under Daddy's thumb the most. You're the one who just blindly believed everything he and Pastor Samuel ever told us. And that's cool; you know we don't cross Daddy."

"Yeah," Quinn agreed, glancing up at Jesus, staring coldly down at her from his spot on the wall above her bed.

"So we grew up not questioning anything, not sticking our necks out and trying to find out things for ourselves. And look where it got us. I'm stuck here at this school wanting to fucking jump out a window on a daily basis."

Quinn's eyes widened; she'd never heard Abbie swear, ever.

Abbie laughed, guessing her sister's reaction. "Quinn, where's listening to what Daddy and Pastor Samuel have spoon-fed you gotten you? Miserable, scared, and just maybe pushing away a really great thing. I mean, yeah, I probably wouldn't have picked Rachel Berry for you, but if anybody can improve the overbearing little mouse—"

"Watch it, Abs."

"It's you," Abbie said, a smirk evident in her voice. "See? You think it's sinful but you're defending her?"

There was a pause, and Quinn opened her mouth to speak, but once again Abbie cut her off.

"There's a whole world out there, Quinn. Full of amazing people, with so many amazing opinions and ideas. There's so much love out here, and I know it's hard because you're still stuck in that damn house, and I know you're scared, but… do me a favor, little sister. Let love win out, not Dad."

"Yeah," Quinn said quietly, wishing it were that easy.

"Because I'll tell you a secret of my own. Once I'm done here, I'm leaving, going somewhere else for grad school. One that _I_ choose. And maybe Dad won't ever talk to me again, but… his idea of God's not enough for me anymore, Quinn. I've got to find my own."

"How did you get to be so smart?" Quinn said, grinning in spite of herself.

"It comes naturally to some of us," her sister said airily. Then, seriously, "Quinn? Do you love her?"

Quinn closed her eyes. Opening them, she took a breath.

"I'm pretty sure that I _could_ love her. A lot."

"I can't tell you what to do, Quinn. If Dad finds out, I don't know what _he'll_ do. But I do know you'll need somebody. So do me a favor."

"What?"

"Go get your girl, Quinn."

They shared small talk for a few more minutes before Quinn hung up the phone, wandering over to her desk and settling down in front of her computer.

She checked her email, knowing that it would be the same as it had been for the last three days.

No new email.

Not even from Puck, requesting a booty call. She figured even he was angry at her, though not for the reasons the others were.

Quinn wondered when she'd become a spineless coward, in the minds of some only good for putting out.

She also wondered what she would have done, anyway, if there'd been a message from Rachel. She knew there wouldn't be; she'd damaged things irrevocably.

No hope of repair.

She thought about Rachel's eyes, that day in the bathroom, how at first they'd been so full of hope and life, and then… how that look had faded just from a few words. It reminded Quinn of Rachel telling her about her father's letter…

And it made her sick.

Once more, a Fabray had destroyed a Berry.

Quinn had read _Romeo and Juliet_, back when she was 11 years old; checking it out from the Lima Library when her mother had dropped her off for the summer reading program. Everyone thought Quinn's mother was amazing for exposing her little girl to reading, during the _summer_, but Quinn knew it was only because her mother wanted her out of the house. Out of the house meant that her mother could drink to her heart's content, and not have to worry about a rambunctious daughter wanting to go to the pool or the local roller rink.

_Romeo and Juliet_ had been the first book she'd selected, even if it made the program director quirk an eyebrow at her. Quinn read through the small book quickly, finding the language beautiful, and as she sat and looked idly at a blank email screen on her computer, one line stood out.

_Deny thy father and refuse thy name._

She hadn't realized she'd picked up a pencil, and had been absent-mindedly scratching out words in the notebook she always left open on her desk. She glanced down, her breath stilling in her lungs.

**I am gay.**

"Quinnie?"

She jumped, and the pencil nearly flew out of her hand, but she recovered herself and turned around.

"Yes, Mom?"

Her mom looked at her daughter oddly, from the tear-stained cheeks to the way her hands trembled, a wild-eyed look on her face.

"Everything all right, Quinnie?"

Quinn forced herself to take deep breath. "Just a little tired, Mom. What's up?"

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, her mother smiled. "I was just going to have you come to my room for one more fitting of your dress, before the revival tomorrow."

Ugh, she'd forgotten about that.

"Right. Um, Mom… I kind of don't want to go." Catching her mother's confused expression, Quinn hurried on.

"It's just that I've been really tired and school's been kind of rough lately…" _That's an understatement_, she thought.

"So I was wondering if it was okay for me to just stay here tomorrow night."

She finished her words in a rush, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Her mother just smiled and walked over to Quinn, tucking a lock of honey blonde hair behind her ear and kissing her forehead.

"I'm sorry you're tired, Quinn," she said brightly. "But that's the mark of success for a Fabray, isn't it?"

Quinn sighed inwardly.

"Now come on, let's go up to my room and finish up your fitting. It just _wouldn't do_ for your father's whole family – except for Abbie, of course – not to be at his revival tomorrow, now, would it?"

Now Quinn sighed out loud. "No, Mom, it wouldn't."

She followed her mother out the door and to her room, preparing to fit into the dress of obligation.

Every church has its types: those who sit in the back, either hoping no one will notice that they haven't been to a service in months, or that no one will notice that they're sleeping through the sermon.

Then there are those in the middle, the little old ladies and men who've been at that church probably since it was built and likely have relatives still there – in the cemetery behind the building. These are the people who have nothing but kind words for their fellow parishioners: all sweetness and light and "how are you" and "god bless you." Until they leave. And then it's "oh my goodness did you see what she was wearing?" and "Did you hear about Mr. Johnson's boy? I hear he's addicted to drugs – and maybe _gay_."

Mixed in with the middle rows though, are the genuine believers. These are the people who are the embodiment of Christian love: who bring the casseroles when someone dies; who sing in the choir for the funeral if there is no family; who extend their hand to the unwed teenage mother because they wouldn't _be_ in church if it wasn't for an unwed teenage mother. These are the ones seen on the front lines in the soup kitchens, in the schools and the prisons, on the streets trying to love the homeless and the lost children into hope for something better, bigger.

Last but not least, there are those in the front row. Sometimes a church is like a theater: why sit in the mezzanine when you can pay top dollar for orchestra seating, a chance to see and be seen. These are the elite, those whose green has paid for the very walls of the church, or are immortalized on the windows and on the bricks leading up to the front door. Present every Sunday in their finest, they are the church's foundation of money and of status – and these rows never mix with the others.

The Fabrays were "front row," orchestra seat churchgoers. Front row center, to be exact.

The congregation of Lighthouse Baptist was so large that they required three services. On any regular Sunday, the church could hope to see a thousand people at their nine a.m. first service. For revival, however, they could expect to see up to three thousand a night, filling the church to capacity and revving their desire to "win souls for Christ" into overdrive.

As Quinn sat in the first row, directly in front of the pulpit, she marveled at how easily her father slipped into the role of pastor. Russell Fabray was a favorite amongst the congregation of the church: he could speak the fire and brimstone thirsted after by the elders, before gentling his tone and his message, bringing himself to the level of the teenagers, speaking to every unresolved hope and fear.

When she was little, Quinn used to admire how her daddy made her feel so loved, so special, when they were at church.

Now, he just made her feel judged.

He stalked across the stage, his face red and sweaty, occasionally wiping at it with a handkerchief. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, his sleeves rolled up, and he seemed, under the harsh pulsing lights of a church that relied on electric guitars and projection screens to spread its message, to actually be on fire.

That was a phrase Quinn had heard often: "on fire for Christ."

But tonight, as she listened to her father trying to bring uncaptured souls to their Savior, she wasn't thinking of Christ.

Tonight, as every night since that day in the bathroom, she was thinking of Rachel.

Temptation, Quinn knew, was a funny thing. If temptation wasn't such a make-or-break thing in terms of salvation, it wouldn't be so tantalizing, so enticing as to make a seventeen-year-old girl think of lips on hers, of moans in her ear, while she was at _church_.

But think about it she did, as well as think about the fact that, for the last three nights, God had ignored her.

"Are you hurting?" Quinn heard her father say above her. "Turn it over to God. Are you lost? Turn _towards_ God. Are you trapped in a life of sin, and can't find your way out? Put your hand in God's."

She'd _tried_. She'd cried herself to sleep for three nights straight, prayers for God's mercy on her lips. Her father had always told her, there was nothing too big for God.

But it seemed that Rachel Berry? Might be too big for God.

Quinn perversely thought that that would make Rachel exceedingly happy.

Maybe she wasn't… good enough. Maybe she didn't believe hard enough, Quinn thought. Maybe she wasn't _worthy_.

Whatever it was, she'd prayed for three nights for God to take Rachel Berry off her mind – and off her heart – and now, tonight… she was still there, stronger than ever.

"God will take every pain, every burden, every ache in your heart away from you. He will release you of every sinful thought, every evil urge, every temptation you've ever faced, my dear children, my brothers and sisters. All you have to do is _ask_."

"I _have_," Quinn mumbled, feeling ashamed at the sudden rush of tears down her cheeks.

The odd look her mother shot her didn't go unnoticed, and she stiffened in her seat, resting her hands on her lap, taking a deep breath.

Did God see her? Quinn wondered. Did He see when she was laying in bed, in tears from the ache in her heart, the ache in her _arms_, from the absence of Rachel? Did He see how terrified she was at the implications of what they had done together, the fact that Quinn really wouldn't mind doing it _again_?

Did He see how lost and alone she felt, how she wanted more than anything to run to her daddy and have him tell her that everything was going to be okay, but, knowing she couldn't, had no one to turn to but the Father beyond fathers… and still felt abandoned?

The music swelled as Quinn's father reached the crescendo in his pitch, his voice strong and clean, reaching towards the rafters, as he began the altar call.

"Come to Jesus, my friends, my brothers and sisters. Be released from your pain tonight, renew your commitment to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Lay your ashes down for beauty, children of God, and see the glory of belief.

_At the foot of the cross, _

_where grace and suffering meet_

_You have shown me your love_

_Through the judgment you've received_

_And you've won my heart_

_Yes you've won my heart_

_And now I can…_

They were on their feet now, and Quinn was all too cognizant that her mother was staring at her, at the way her daughter's hands trembled while she clutched onto the pew in front of her for support, at the way the tears were streaking down her cheeks.

Rachel.

Rachel, beautiful Rachel, with her smiling eyes and soft lips, gorgeous hair and gentle hands.

God, harsh and judgmental, unwavering, expecting her to fight this on her own. Was there no help to be found in Him? Even when she'd taught that he was always there?

_Trade these ashes in for beauty_

_And wear forgiveness like a crown_

_Coming to kiss the feet of mercy_

_I lay every burden down…_

Her father's eyes were on hers. "Lay every burden down," he called, the words searing into her heart. "Lay down your depression, lay down your anger, lay down your drug use, lay down your homosexuality, lay down your uncertainty and insecurity, at the foot of the cross. Let God save you, let God _release_ you…"

She wanted it. The sweet release, the lifting of the burden that was Rachel Berry…

But she'd be lost without it.

Quinn sobbed.

Judy Fabray nudged her. "Go up there, Quinnie."

She shook her head. "I don't want to," she hitched, trying to regain her breath. "I can't."

_At the foot of the cross_

_Where I am made complete_

_You have given me life_

_Through the death you bore for me…_

"Nonsense," Mrs. Fabray said. "Your father is up there, and it would mean the world to him if his _daughter_ came up to the altar to renew her commitment to Christ. It'd be a wonderful example of the Fabray family, Quinn."

_And you've won my heart_

Rachel.

_Yes you've won my heart…_

Quinn struck the pew with her fist, fighting for control. There was none to be found, and her feet began to move, slipping her past her mother and down the aisle, towards her father. She was aware of everyone's eyes on her, ever the dutiful daughter, a vision of family perfection in a long white dress.

_I trade these ashes in for beauty_

_And wear forgiveness like a crown_

_Coming to kiss the feet of mercy_

_I lay every burden down…_

Her father was beaming at her, and he came over to her. She managed to smile at him through her tears; his hand was firm and exacting as it came to rest on her head.

She knelt down, memories of Rachel swimming behind her now-closed eyelids.

"Do you renew your commitment to your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, tonight?"

His voice was booming.

A ringside announcer, making sure everyone heard.

Quinn nodded, and felt nothing as she sobbed.

No mercy. No forgiveness. No peace.

No love, except for that of a small diva in argyle.

Her father prayed over her, releasing her from her sin, and Quinn felt nothing.

_I lay every burden down…_

_I'm laying every burden down._


	15. Chapter 14

She sat in the empty choir room and tried to stave off her tears again, but she was no more successful than she had been all day.

Even Santana had slipped an arm around her, breaking her rule of no affection during school to ask if she was okay. Quinn had just shrugged and accepted Brittany's kiss to her forehead with a watery smile.

The glee room perhaps wasn't the place to go, but it was lunchtime and Quinn didn't know where else she could be alone. She'd opened the door cautiously, peeking her head in and making sure she _would_ be alone (translation: Rachel wasn't there) before going in.

Her father had been so proud. He'd hugged her once they'd gotten home, saying that he was so glad to have Quinn as a daughter, asked her if she'd seen all the people looking at him, knowing that he was a lucky man to have such a beautiful family?

She'd seen them. She'd always seen them.

Their expectations. Their hope. Their envy. Their acceptance of the role that, up until a few months ago, she'd played to the hilt.

The dutiful, perfect, lovely daughter.

The flawless gem.

Now the… fuck-up.

The… _lesbian?_

Quinn was crying so hard that she didn't even register the door opening, didn't notice the small figure stopping in the doorway and staring at her, shock and worry on her face.

She didn't notice the girl coming up to her, standing in front of her, didn't realize she was being watched…

Until she felt Rachel's arms slide around her shoulders.

Quinn stiffened and tried to pull away, but Rachel held, saying nothing even as Quinn raised her tear-stained face and their eyes met.

There was nothing for Quinn to do but break when she saw the love there, the tears starting fresh as she buried her face in Rachel's stomach, her arms wrapping around her waist and clutching hard.

Rachel's sweater was scratchy and warm against her face and it smelled sweet, it smelled of freesia and _Rachel_, and Quinn was lost in it as she was practically hyperventilating against the other girl. And still Rachel said nothing, just held her, one hand rubbing her back and the other hand stroking her hair.

She kept her fingers fisted in Rachel's sweater, tugging the girl closer, trying to slip _into_ her, to find her strength, needing her closeness. Gradually Quinn's sobs subsided, and her hands fell away, resting limply at her sides as she took in slower breaths until she could, at last, meet Rachel's gaze again.

What she saw made her lose her breath for the second time that day.

Worry. Love. _Hope_. Expectation.

Everyone expected _something_ of her. And Quinn knew she couldn't deliver, would never be able to deliver.

Rachel's eyes never left her as Quinn got up, wiped her cheeks with her sleeve, dusted off her dress… and walked out of the choir room without a glance back.

The air was stifling as soon as Quinn opened the door to her home after school, and saw her parents sitting with serious faces in the living room, her mother on the couch and her father in the wingback chair. There was a chair from the dining room sitting in front of both of them, empty.

Waiting for _her_, Quinn realized.

The air turned icy.

She took a deep breath and willed her hands to stop shaking, tried to search her mind for whatever they might want to talk to her about.

Maybe they had found out about Puck.

How would they have found out about that, though? Unless Santana…

No. Even Santana would never sink that low.

Maybe it was about the D she'd gotten on her chemistry test.

She could explain that away. She'd been tired the night before and hadn't studied well. And it was only one test; she would promise to do better and she'd probably get grounded for a week or so, but then it'd be forgotten.

So maybe that was it, the chemistry test.

She hoped that's what it was.

Quinn nodded at her parents to acknowledge that she knew they were waiting for her, then gestured towards her schoolbag. In truth, she wanted a couple more minutes to stall, to quell the sudden feeling she had that she was just about to walk the plank.

Face the firing squad.

They didn't return her nod, didn't send a reassuring smile her way, made no other acknowledgement of _her_ presence other than her mother's arms folded primly across her chest, and her father's hand clutching a sweating glass of gin.

She'd never really been in trouble before. True, there had been spankings when she was little, for getting dirty before church (she chuckled to herself a little at the irony of _that_), for bringing home a bad behavior report because she'd slapped Puckerman for calling Santana a spic when she was ten. In general, though, Quinn Camille Fabray was the jewel in her father's crown: precious, perfectly cut, brilliantly shining under close inspection. Beautiful when held up to the light of expectation.

But as she walked back into the living room and sat in the chair in front of her mother and father, Quinn had the sinking feeling that she was about to tarnish the Fabray family crown.

She sat as if she was in the front pew at Lighthouse Baptist: dress down over her knees, back straight, hands folded primly.

"Daddy?" she said, trying to affect her best, seventeen-year-old good girl voice.

"Is something wrong?"

Her father drained his gin in one gulp, the ice clinking almost angrily in the glass when he set it down on the table next to the couch.

She hadn't bothered to speak to her mother.

Her father had run the show since she was a minute old; he'd be running this one.

"Quinn," he began, "your mother and I have discovered some… information that we're concerned about."

Her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I know what you mean. What information?"

"Have you been friends with Rachel Berry?"

There were times in a person's life when they are able to tap dance around an issue, a problem, with all the finesse of a dancer in a Fosse show. The movements are fluid, every step calculated, a casual one-two-three that gets the dancer from point A to point B without the audience realizing the dancer went to Z first.

And then there are times when a dancer misses a crucial count, a cue that they should go left when they are going right, when the toe of their shoe catches against a crack on the stage and they realize that they are completely and utterly _fucked_.

As soon as the words left her father's lips, Quinn realized she was the solo performer in a 2nd grade dance recital – and she had two left feet.

She took a breath and let it out, slowly.

She met her father's eyes.

"Yes."

To lie would only make it worse. His daughters did _not_ lie to Russell Fabray. Except when they did, by becoming friends with someone they were expressly told to avoid, 5 years ago.

"For how long?"

Quinn sighed inwardly. "For a few months."

Well, it was half-true. She might have known Rachel since they were kids in elementary school together, but they weren't what you would call friends.

She wasn't even sure if she could call Rachel her _friend_, now.

Her father's green eyes flashed dark before he settled back into his cool demeanor. Still, his voice was now stiff, stern.

"You were expressly told not to talk to her."

Quinn's teeth clenched, her jaw tightened. "I think you were wrong."

As if by instinct her father reached for his glass again, seeming not to realize it was empty of the courage he usually found there. He stared at the ice for a moment before going to the flask that was resting on the table by the wall. He poured, his next words coming out low, definitive.

"It doesn't matter what you think. You were told not to talk to her, and you disobeyed me."

"I don't understand _why_ you don't want me to talk to her. Is it because of her fathers? Because I've met them and—"

"You've _met them_?" her mother interjected, her eyes wide.

Shit. _Shit shit shit._

Quinn's hand began to fidget with her dress.

"Yes."

Russell Fabray sighed heavily, again taking his place in the chair, regarding his daughter with the newly-full glass of gin balanced on his knee.

"You will not see them again. You will stop talking to Rachel Berry."

Quinn's hand was now fisted in her dress. She would say nothing; there was nothing she _could_ say.

Her father wore his crown for a reason.

"Do you understand?" He sounded almost cheerful now. The issue, for him, was nearly over. He had made his pronouncement; the only thing left was compliance, followed by the inevitable punishment Quinn knew she would receive.

"No," she said softly, toying with a loose string at her hem. "I don't."

She looked up at her parents. "They're good people," she said pleadingly. "I think if you just talked to them, gave them a chance—"

"Talked to them?" Mr. Fabray barked his laughter. "Talk to _them_? _We_ do not talk to people like _them_."

"Like what?" Quinn said in exasperation. "People who are kind? People who love their daughter, would do anything for her? People who look for the good in everyone, instead of what others think is wrong?"

She was treading thin ice; the vein in her father's neck looked like it was about to bulge out from his skin, and her mother's lips were pressed into a thin tight line as she deferred to the king in his castle.

This was Mr. Fabray's element, and not for the first time in her life, his daughter felt woefully inadequate.

She wished for Abbie's casual snarkiness. She wished for Santana's balls of steel, Brittany's innocent acceptance of whatever life threw at her.

She wished for Rob and Patrick, for the love in their eyes as they looked at each other.

But more than anything, Quinn wished for the touch of a small hand, entwining fingers with hers, and giving her courage that she wasn't sure she had, on her own.

Mr. Fabray was on his feet now, unaccustomed to the gems in his crown moving one inch out of place.

He paced back and forth before finally stopping in front of his daughter, his finger raised level with her eyes.

"You are not to see them again, or talk to Rachel Berry. If I have to go to your school and force them to keep you two away from each other, I'll do it. You are not to drive your car. I will adjust my schedule to bring you to and from school. You will drop the glee club. You will not be on your computer unless your mother or I are there to supervise. The door to your room stays open at all times."

Quinn's mouth gaped. All this, just for talking to Rachel and meeting her dads?

"Daddy?" she said quietly. "What did I do wrong? I thought… I thought we were supposed to love everyone. Isn't that what the bible says?"

Her father's fingers tightened around the glass, and he looked at her.

"Not when that loving can influence away you from the will of God."

"How has it influenced me?" she asked, and took a deep breath, realizing that in her confusion she was starting to sound panicked.

Quinn's father took a deep breath and he knelt in front of her with one hand on her knee, looking up at her with something that seemed like love in his eyes.

"Quinn, you're only seventeen and you think that everyone in this world is good. But they're _not_, Quinn. There are evil people in this world, and Rachel's _fathers_—" She flinched at how he practically spit the words, venom evident in his throat.

"They are evil, Quinn. That they've gotten you hoodwinked into thinking they are normal is proof of just how much they are under Satan's power."

She thought back to how Patrick joked with Rob when she'd met them, how Rob had stood at the stove cooking breakfast and looking for all the world like a domestic… husband. How they had bantered easily with their daughter and Quinn, how they'd held each other's hands as they'd walked out of the house that weekend, to go antiquing.

Was that what evil looked like? Was this the lure of the devil into a life of sin and death?

Or was it just… two men in love, and a little daughter who adored them?

Was it just a _family_?

"I haven't been influenced," Quinn whispered, shaking her head, trying to save some semblance of innocence, hoping her father would ease off of his rant about Rachel's family.

Instead, he just stood up and downed his drink again. "Are you sure about that?"

A sudden chill ran through her.

She just stared up at him, feeling small and vulnerable.

A little girl listening to a sermon, held tightly in the protective arms of her father.

Quinn missed it.

Missed her daddy, missed believing that he could rope the moon and drag it down for her.

Russell Fabray turned to his wife, and nodded at her. Something unspoken flowed between them, and Judy Fabray cleared her throat.

"Quinn," she said gently. "What would you do, as a mother, if you went into your daughter's room to put away her clothes, and on her desk you found a note?"

Quinn wracked her brain, trying to think of any note she might have left on her desk. She hadn't _written_ any notes, hadn't gotten any that needed replying.

She also tried to figure out how the hell her mother ended up at her desk, if she was just putting away clothes. No doubt she was snooping. But for what?

She was clueless, and she didn't like that one bit, feeling as if she was about to wake up to Christmas morning with nothing but coal in her stocking.

She stared at her mother, uncomprehending.

To her surprise, she could see tears beginning to sparkle in her mother's eyes.

"What… what did the note say?" she managed to ask.

Her mother couldn't look at her, and her whisper was so low that Quinn had to lean forward to hear her, and barely managed to right herself as her world came crashing down.

"It said 'I am gay.'"

Quinn choked on the dryness in her throat, hands clutching at the edges of her chair, trying to hold herself up. She was shaking, her breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps that were making her see stars behind her eyes. She knew that her mother was now holding a piece of paper – _Quinn's note, written in her hand – _in her fingers, as if it were a vile snake.

Her confession, her admission of guilt.

Her damnation.

That night… after talking to Abbie.

She'd forgotten to put it away. Had forgotten to _throw_ it away, to shred it into little tiny pieces, as if she could tear the very message from her heart.

She felt sick.

"Quinn," her father said. "You've never given us a reason not to trust you, not until today. We want to believe you, and so we want you to tell us the truth. Can you... can you deny these _words_?"

He sat down on the couch next to her mother, holding Judy's hand for the first time since Quinn had gotten home that day.

"Can you give us a good reason as to why you would write something like this? Perhaps it was for school, or for your glee club. Can you give us the truth that this is not you, that you've not allowed your life to slip down this road to hell, that you've not compromised your soul for… something like that?"

She _could_. The words were on her tongue, sweet and saving like medicine chased by sugar, in her favorite movie as a child. She wasn't _gay_. She was Quinn Fabray, her daddy's little girl. Smart and beautiful, blonde and popular. She was Celibacy Club and a cross around her neck, bible verses sealed on her heart like bandages, blocking all that was evil and infectious.

She wasn't like _them._ She wasn't immoral and sick; she didn't want to molest children or recruit members into some sort of gay mafia. She wasn't a criminal; she wasn't a dog or a whore, she wasn't like Rob and Patrick, not like Ra—

Rachel.

Quinn wasn't like Rachel. She wasn't like brown eyes looking at her lovingly. Small, nimble fingers coaxing goose bumps over porcelain skin, gentle lips kissing away every inadequacy. Those same fingers, fitting so perfectly in the space between Quinn's, as if they had been made to fit there.

She wasn't bravery and certainty, not fearless and unrelenting.

She wasn't _love_.

Quinn raised her head and met her father's eyes, even as the tears began to flow down her cheeks.

"I can't," she simply said.

_She couldn't._

He reared back as if struck, not expecting this answer. "Why can't you?"

"Because," Quinn sobbed, her gaze never wavering from his face.

"I _am_."

Her mother gasped. "You are what?"

Quinn shook her head. "I'm _gay_."

"Then you can't stay here."

"Russell!"

"No!" her father snarled. "She will _not_ stay in this house. I will not have it known that the Fabrays have a _gay_ daughter."

"Russell, please," Judy Fabray continued to plead. "We can fix this. She can go to a doctor, or-or a camp, you'd do that for us, wouldn't you, Quinnie? A doctor could help you, I'm sure he could…"

Her voice trailed off, because her daughter had covered her face with her hands, shaking her head, mumbling "I'm gay, I'm gay," over and over, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs and her admission.

"Get out."

"Daddy…" Quinn cried. "Daddy, _please_, just try to understand."

"Pack your bags," he said, glaring at her, "and get _out_ of my house."

"Russell…"

"_Out_!" he roared.

Quinn nodded numbly, still sobbing, and got up to make her way to the phone.

But who would she call?

Santana.

She'd call Santana and tell the girl that she needed a place to stay.

"Don't you dare," she heard from her left, and she turned around just in time to see her father, with his fist raised.

Directed at _her_.

Quinn gasped, and cowered.

Russell Fabray's hand faltered in mid-air, then dropped to his side.

He turned away from her.

"Go pack your things," he said quietly, brokenly. "And get out."

"Russell," Quinn heard over her tears, as she mounted the stairs towards her bedroom, "she's our _baby_."

"No," came the answer as she crossed the threshold to her room, for probably the last time.

"She's not."

She clenched her own fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms; flexing them again she stared at the tiny purple half-moons until they faded, then brought her focus back to her room, and what she was supposed to be doing.

Packing.

To leave her life behind.

And she didn't have a suitcase.

She searched the room until she found the package of little pink, floral-scented trash bags that she used for the bin under her desk. They weren't big enough to hold wads of paper, honestly, but there Quinn was, trying to shove everything she could into two of them.

Clothes. Underwear. Her bible. Toiletries. Her teddy bear.

He'd been a constant companion, on nights when a frightened Quinn had cried herself to sleep after a nightmare.

She hoped he'd continue to hold up his end of the bargain, because she was pretty sure she was going to hold up hers.

It was almost comical, she thought, two trash bags clutched in her hands, holding the barest remnants of seventeen years of life. She glanced at the framed pictures on her desk; she picked up one of Abbie and stowed it in her school bag.

She left the rest of her family behind.

She went downstairs, where her mother hadn't moved from the couch, but Quinn could tell that the woman was crying.

"Please, Quinn," she said quietly. "Stay, and let us help you. I don't want you to be like that boy."

Quinn tilted her head.

"That boy," her mother repeated. "The one in Laramie. I couldn't bear it if…"

She was unable to finish her sentence and Quinn, still confused, just let it slide.

She looked towards her father. "Daddy?" She said in a small voice.

"Daddy, _please_?"

He didn't meet her eyes as he shook his head, and the tears flowed down his daughter's cheeks again.

"Can I have my car keys?"

Mr. Fabray scoffed. "You want to go somewhere, I'll take you," he said. "That car is no longer yours."

The thought of going _anywhere_ with her father filled her with panic; what if he tried to take her to a mental hospital? Or to one of those… gay camps? She'd heard horrific stories about them, and she knew she'd never make it, not even a day.

Quinn just nodded.

"Mommy?"

She hadn't called her mother that in almost eight years.

Judy Fabray met her eyes, blue melding with hazel, tears sparkling in both.

"Mommy, I… I love you."

Quinn's mother stood up, turned her back on her daughter, and walked away.

"Let's go," her father threw over his shoulder as he started towards the door, keys in hand.

"I'm not taking you to the Berrys, so you'd better figure out somewhere else to go."

She nodded, following after him, the dutiful baby daughter to the last.

"Can you take me to Santana's?"

"Get in the car," he ordered, and slid into the driver's side.

She did so, tossing the trash bags and her backpack into the back seat and buckling her seatbelt, shaking hands held in her lap, tears dripping onto her fingers.

He started the car, easing it down the drive, then turned to Quinn.

"Is Santana like _you_?"

She didn't answer. She wouldn't, she _couldn't_ out her friend.

She owed her that much, after everything she'd ever done to the girl, simply because Santana had opened her heart to a blonde-haired, blue eyed cheerleader.

"Do you not realize what you're doing?" Russell Fabray exclaimed. "Don't you see how much you've hurt your mother? Do you not realize how much shame you're going to be bringing on our family? You don't even care about embarrassing us, do you?"

"I do, Daddy," Quinn said miserably, worrying the hem of her blue dress once more. "I just don't understand why it has to be shameful. It's just _love_, Daddy."

"It's that _Berry_ girl, isn't it?" Once again, Mr. Fabray fairly spat the name, his lips curled into a sneer.

"This is why I told you not to be friends with her, this is what I was worried about. She's influenced you, seeped into your heart like a poison—"

"She has not!" Quinn said hotly. "Say whatever you want about me, but don't you dare say anything about my Rachel! You don't even _know_ her!"

Neither do I, she thought to herself, remembering how easily she had pushed the smaller girl away, how she'd dashed every hope Rachel had had about their chance at love, with just a few words.

Quinn cried harder, at the pain of her father's words combined with the pain of Rachel's face, twisted with hurt and loss.

The car stopped in front of Santana's house, and Quinn was relieved to see that the Cheerio's car was in the driveway.

"Get out," her father said, his voice hollow.

"Daddy, _please_."

Maybe if she begged him hard enough, he would still love her.

"I can't have you in our house, Quinn," he said. "Not until you repent from this evil. Get out."

Quinn nodded, sobbing, and retrieved her bags from the backseat, closing the car door behind her.

She walked off, not looking back, but she didn't hear the car drive away.

It seemed sick, that her father was throwing her out but still making sure that she got to her destination safely.

It seemed… _fake_.

Santana answered the persistent knock, the sour look on her face disappearing when she saw Quinn's tear-stained cheeks. She took in the shaking girl in front of her, the backpack slung over one shoulder and the trash bags held in her hands; her mouth opened and closed silently, until finally, she asked one question.

"What happened?"

Quinn shook her head. "I just lost my family," she cried.

"Why?" Santana said, confused.

"Because," Quinn sniffled. She shook her head again. "I'm _gay_, Santana. I'm… I'm _gay_."

Santana went rigid. Her jaw set, her eyes hardened; she moved past her friend, and started off down the walk, her fists clenched at her side.

"No," Quinn said hastily, dropping the trash bags and grabbing Santana's arm. "No, Santana, don't, it'll make it worse."

"Let me," Santana said harshly. "Just one punch, that's all I need."

"No," she said again. "Please…"

They stood there, then, on the sidewalk in front of Santana's house, and listened to the sound of Russell Fabray driving off and leaving his daughter.

Quinn whimpered, and instantly Santana's arms were around her, holding her close.

"I'm sorry," Quinn sobbed, "I'm sorry for everything I said, I'm sorry, I—"

"Shh," Santana soothed, sounding as if she were crying a little herself. "It all makes sense now anyway."

"What am I going to do?" Quinn sniffled. "I don't know what to do…"

"First thing you're going to do," Santana said firmly, "is come into my house, and I need to talk to my parents. I'm sure everything will be fine; you can stay in the guest room. Have you eaten?"

Quinn arched an eyebrow and Santana shrugged.

"My mom," she said. "She thinks everything is solved with food. You get used to it after a while, but good god she makes it hard to be a cheerleader."

Quinn laughed then, grateful for Santana's attempts at cheering her up. Santana smiled and wrapped an arm around Quinn's waist, reaching down to pick up the trash bags. She glanced at them and shook her head, but said nothing.

It was an awkward, painful ten minutes that Quinn spent in the Lopez living room, listening as Santana talked quietly to her parents in the kitchen, not loud enough for her blonde friend to hear, but loud enough to hear the insistence in her voice. Quinn managed to smile a little, grateful to still have _someone_ on her side.

Presently Santana came out of the kitchen – with her mother in tow – and Quinn tensed, but relaxed when Santana winked at her.

Mrs. Lopez walked over to her and, to her surprise, hugged Quinn fiercely. "You're welcome here as long as you need, _mija_," she said, and Quinn felt herself tearing up again.

"Are you hungry?" Mrs. Lopez asked, and Quinn couldn't help but giggle a little when Santana gave her a look that clearly said, "See what I mean?"

She didn't want anything though, so Santana led her upstairs to the guest room and showed her to the bathroom, so that Quinn could wash up.

"Do you want me to, uh, call anybody?" Santana asked.

Quinn knew what she was really asking.

_Do you want me to call Rachel_?

Quinn shook her head.

"You sure?" Santana pressed.

"I'm sure."

She stood in the bathroom and scrubbed at the tearstains with a washcloth.

They were soon gone from her face, but it'd be a long time before they were gone from her heart.

Making her way to Santana's room, she stopped in the doorway; Santana was on the phone.

"Yeah, just now," she was saying. "No, not like, this second, I mean like ten minutes ago."

Brittany. Quinn nodded to herself. Of course Santana would want her girlfriend to know what was going on.

She'd want her girlfriend to know, too, if she had one.

"No, I don't think that's a good idea right now. She probably needs some time to… I don't know. Take it all in. Decompress, yeah."

She quirked an eyebrow. When had Brittany learned _decompress_?

"Yeah, I will." Santana sighed heavily. "Yes, yes, I—_Ra_—" She turned around then; catching sight of Quinn, Santana's eyes widened.

"Brittany!" She said hastily, her voice entirely too loud and bright. Quinn pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest.

"I have to go, Britt, I need to make sure Quinn's doing okay. Yes, I'll tell her. _Yes_. God, I said I would, would you just _relax_? Fine, don't bust a blood vessel. I will. I _will_. Bye."

She flipped her phone shut and grinned guiltily at Quinn.

"Brittany," she said, gesturing towards her cell.

Quinn nodded. "And what did, um… _Brittany_ have to say?"

Santana smiled, a little sadly. "That she's worried about you. And that if you need to talk, you know her number."

Quinn nodded, looking out over the top of Santana's head.

"Since when do you have _Brittany's_ number?" she asked suddenly, still content to pretend the person on the other end of Santana's phone wasn't the one whose voice she wanted to hear more than anything.

But not content enough to stop the slight irritation that rose up within her, at the thought that Santana had talked to her first.

Santana smirked. "Jealous?"

"No," she said hastily. "I just… wondered." She stared down at her hands, trying to appear nonchalant.

Santana snorted. "After everything… well, happened, she talked to me a few times, trying to figure things out. Trying to figure _you_ out."

"Oh."

"She said something else."

"Oh?" Quinn said again. She tried to make her voice noncommittal, even as she met Santana's eyes.

"She said to tell you that she loves you."

Quinn's lips trembled as she sank onto the edge of Santana's bed.

"I don't see how," she said softly. "I was horrible to her."

"People do stupid things when they're in love," Santana said. "I'm the fucking queen of stupid, trust me. Do you remember that time when we all stopped talking to each other? Back when you weren't waving your own pride flag?"

Quinn grinned a little, even as she hung her head.

"I tried to convince myself that I didn't have to love Brittany. That I could live without her."

"So what changed your mind?"

Santana snorted again. "Have you _seen_ that girl's legs?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, and Santana laughed. "Maybe it's crazy for me to think I've found the love of my life at 17 years old. If it is, then lock me up in that padded room, but make sure Brittany is there with me. I can't see my life without her."

Quinn's grin had turned into a full-on smile. "You really are a sap," she teased softly. Santana blushed.

Quinn sobered then, and said, "I really am sorry though. For everything."

"Like I said," Santana shrugged. "I get it. You had some hardcore self-hatred going on. But this…" She gestured towards Quinn. "Shit, Q, you deserve so much better."

"I miss my daddy," Quinn confessed. She laughed a little. "It's only been, what, an hour? He'll never talk to me again. And I already miss him, so much. And my mom… she just sat there and let him throw me out. Said she didn't want me to be like that boy in Laramie, whatever that means."

"Matthew Shepard," Santana said. "Couple of guys beat him up, then strung him up on a fence to die because he was gay."

Quinn blinked. "Oh, my god."

"Yeah. But that's the difference between your mom and your dad, I think."

"What do you mean?"

Santana sat down on her bed and put her arm around Quinn's shoulders, not caring when the girl rested her head against her.

"Your dad, all he saw was evil in his house that he had to get rid of."

Quinn winced, and Santana squeezed her gently.

"But your mom… she saw her _daughter_, and she doesn't want you to get hurt. Bet she'll come around."

"Bet she won't," Quinn said bitterly, even if she was a little comforted by Santana's words. Suddenly curious, she asked, "What do your parents know?"

Santana shrugged and offered Quinn a small smile. "Enough, and they haven't asked for anything else. Guess I'm lucky."

"Yeah." Quinn looked down at her hands. "Lucky," she echoed.

Santana sat with her until well into the morning hours, trying to be comforting but knowing she couldn't do much.

At around 2:30, Quinn was startled to hear her cell phone buzz; she flipped it open and tilted her head, seeing that she had a text message.

**Talked 2 mom & dad. Proud of u. Call 2morrow? **

**Love u more than anything. -Abbie**

She showed it to Santana, who grinned and lightly punched her on the shoulder.

Quinn finally went to bed, holding her teddy bear close as she cried, trying not to be afraid in an unfamiliar room.

Trying not to be terrified of what the next day would bring her, once the sun rose pink and beautiful over the horizon, and she would awaken to a life on her own.


	16. Chapter 15

Quinn woke up at 6:30 the next morning. At first, she was confused: the bed felt unfamiliar, the house smelled of strange food, and it took her a moment to remember where she was.

Santana's house.

It came to her in a whirlwind, then: the note, her father, the anger in his face and the sorrow in her mother's.

_Get out_.

Seventeen years of family blown off with two simple words, casting away into the air like fuzz from a dandelion.

She wanted to stay in bed. She wanted to stay home from school and wallow in her misery, to cry and bemoan her newfound lack of parents. To try to parse the sudden (well, to her, maybe) knowledge that yes, she really was gay. And not just gay.

Gay for Rachel Berry.

But, as she lay there with her eyes closed, feeling the beginnings of tears seep through her eyelids, a rough ball of _something_ hit her stomach.

And bounced.

She cracked open an eyelid.

A pair of chocolate brown eyes beamed at her, as did the small mouth below them.

She opened both her eyes, then.

"Well, hello there," she said, licking her lips and swallowing against the dryness in her throat.

The tinier, male version of Santana giggled, and kept bouncing.

"I'm Armando," he said proudly. "And you're Sanny's friend. Your name is… Quinn!"

He poked her in the nose, and she giggled in spite of herself.

"Very good," she said, even though she'd met him before. "And how old are you now, Armando?"

"Four." He wiggled a little. "I don't go to school yet. But Sanny told me to wake you up because she doesn't want to have to drag you out of bed."

"'mando, have you—" Santana appeared in the doorway, and let out a laugh. "Armando," she said affectionately, crossing the room and picking him up, hurling the boy over her shoulder and smacking his backside.

"I told you to wake her up, not make her your own personal trampoline."

He squealed and kicked his little legs, catching her in the stomach. Santana grunted and set him back on the floor. "Go help Mama with breakfast, _mijo_."

He darted off with a yell, and Santana smirked after him.

"He's grown a lot since last time," Quinn remarked. She rubbed her belly and winced a little. "He's… bouncy."

"Yup. That's my boy." Santana sat down on the edge of the bed and bounced herself. "Get up."

"I just want to—"

"I know," Santana said firmly. "And you're not doing it. You're getting your ass up and going to school. You can live here, and by that I mean _live_. You're Quinn fucking Fabray, remember? You do not _moon_ over anyone, especially _Rachel Berry_."

Quinn shot her a look, and Santana smirked.

"Hey, if pissing you off gets you out of this whiny ass bed, then I'm the best bitch for the job."

Quinn snorted a little, then sighed, sitting up in the bed. Santana poked her, her face serious.

"I know it sucks," she said quietly. "I know it's _going_ to suck. I can't imagine going through what you did yesterday. But now? Now you can change, live your life the way you want it. You can go get Rachel."

Quinn shook her head. "I'm not going to."

Santana arched an eyebrow. "Did you forget to bring your brain when you left home?"

"I didn't _leave_, I got kicked out."

"You could have said you weren't gay." Santana leaned forward, fastening a pair of brown eyes onto hazel ones.

"You could have denied it all. You could have denied _Rachel_. But you didn't. What does that tell you?"

Quinn shrugged.

"God, you're such a fucking idiot," Santana snapped, but there was no malice in it. "If you want to play the martyr role, Quinn, _fine_. But don't expect me to be there to pick up the pieces when you crash and burn."

She stood up from the bed and glanced at her friend, her expression softening when she saw the stricken look on Quinn's face.

"Get dressed and come down for breakfast. We have to leave in a few minutes."

They picked Brittany up on their way to school, and Quinn moved to the backseat without being asked, so her tall cheerleader friend could sit next to Santana. She watched as Santana's hand reached across the console and entwined with Brittany's. She felt a pang of jealousy, because the two girls didn't let go for the entire ride.

The jealousy was replaced by apprehension, the minute Santana whipped her car into a parking space at William McKinley High School. Quinn sat in the backseat and stared out the window at the building, which for the first time in her high school career seemed dark and imposing. Brittany and Santana got out and started to walk off, before Brittany noticed that Quinn wasn't with them. She nudged Santana and pointed back to the car.

Santana followed Brittany's finger and rolled her eyes. She strode up to the backseat and opened the door, reaching in and hauling Quinn to her feet.

Quinn opened her mouth to protest, but Santana cut her off.

"Get your ass in the school, Fabray. I am not your babysitter."

Her instinct was to punch Santana, except she knew full well what the girl was doing, in her own roundabout way.

Taking care of her.

Instead, Quinn just smiled softly at her, and did as she was told.

It didn't _feel_ any different. Crowds still parted when she walked down the hall – even if it was just because she was walking with Santana and Brittany. She was still Quinn Fabray. She was still a 17-year-old girl, headed to her locker with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She shoved her books onto the shelves, stowing her bag on its hook, before grabbing what she'd need for her first three classes.

Third period.

Spanish with Rachel.

Quinn sighed.

"Are you okay?"

She whirled around, her mouth dropping open slightly.

"Are you okay?" Rachel repeated softly.

_No_, Quinn wanted to say. _I'm not okay. It hurts, I can't sleep, and I don't want to be alone._

_Hold me._

_Love me._

Instead, she nodded. "I'm all right."

The set line in Rachel's jaw told Quinn that, as usual, the smaller girl knew Quinn's bullshit when she saw it. But she simply said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

This time, Rachel rolled her eyes. "Quinn. Can you stop this, please? What you went through yesterday was devastating. If I were in your shoes…"

"You're _not_," Quinn snapped, and winced when Rachel took a step backwards, away from her. She sighed again. "Santana should never have called you."

"You're right," Rachel nodded. She paused. "_You_ should have."

Quinn leaned against her locker, feeling suddenly weary. "Rachel, can we please not do this?"

"Right," Rachel said snidely. "I forgot, you're scared."

"Yes, I am!" Quinn hissed. "I'm scared because last night I only had enough time to pack my things into two trash bags." Rachel's eyes widened, and she seemed ready to say something, but Quinn barreled on.

"Do you know what that's like, Rachel? To have the entirety of your life reduced to two bags? To have your _life_ become _garbage_? I'm _scared_, because I don't have _anybody_ anymore."

"You have Santana," Rachel said, her voice low and wounded. "You have Brittany." She met Quinn's eyes.

"You have me."

Staring down at Rachel, in her little purple jumper with the white tee-shirt underneath, the lace ankle socks and the black mary jane shoes, her brown hair pulled back from her face and held with clips, Quinn though that the girl looked so small, so vulnerable, so earnest with the way she looked at Quinn, completely offering herself – as if she knew no other thing to do.

At that moment, Quinn wanted nothing more than to take Rachel in her arms and give _herself_… but she didn't. She did, though, reach out and close her fingers gently around Rachel's upper arm.

"I'm not ready for _you_, Rachel," she said quietly.

The glimmer of hope in Rachel's brown eyes was unmistakable. "Will you ever be ready?" she asked carefully.

Quinn shook her head. "I don't know. But I know I can't do this right now. Not after… not now."

Rachel worried her lower lip with her teeth, but just nodded. "I hope to see you in glee?" She paused, then smiled at the dip of Quinn's head. "Good. We have a lot of things we need to talk about. We seriously need to merge ourselves into a more cohesive group of singers, if we even have a hope of beating Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals."

Quinn watched in amusement as Rachel executed an absolutely perfect diva spin on her heels and walked off. She kept watching as the girl strode off down the hall, her hips rising and falling in a casual rhythm that seemed not to match that tiny body.

She felt her cheeks flush hot when she realized she'd just spent the better part of two minutes staring at Rachel's ass.

The next two weeks were spent with Quinn slowly adjusting to her life at the Lopezes, life without her parents. For a week straight, Santana held Quinn as she cried, unable to see beyond feeling like an orphan, feeling sick, feeling wrong… feeling lost.

She spent hours on the phone with Abbie, sobbing, asking her older sister what was wrong with her, and Abbie would just sit there patiently, listening to her cry and whispering words of reassurance. She'd offered to set fire to their parents' house, saying that she thought ashes would be a better touch than most of her mother's redecorations. That had earned the first real laugh that Quinn had had in days.

Occasionally Armando would pad up to Santana's room in the evening, sitting in between his sister and her best friend, watching cartoons as they did their homework.

Quinn would find herself absently running her fingers through his hair, chewing on her pen and not focusing on her algebra. The little boy's skin always smelled of sweat and baby powder, and she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to have a child.

A little girl with brown hair and eyes, and the voice of an angel.

Her mother's voice.

Always Rachel hovered just in the periphery of Quinn's vision. She knew the girl would watch her in the hallway, seeming to always be waiting for Quinn to come talk to her. She still avoided sending text messages during Spanish class, but Quinn could feel Rachel's eyes burning holes in the back of her head. She seemed more subdued, even in glee, offering opinions and suggestions without the usual theatricality in her tone. They were all more than excited to be headed to Regionals.

The excitement faded when they learned that any hope of winning Regionals was lost: Sue Sylvester was going to be a judge.

The tension on the bus on the way to Regionals was unmistakable. Schuester tried to give them all a pep talk, but most of them had tuned him out at some point between Lima and Columbus. Only Rachel, Quinn noted, seemed to hang on the man's every word. Quinn had long realized that Rachel's obnoxious reliance on glee club wasn't out of some holier-than-thou attitude, but a desperate need to be part of something bigger than herself.

Glee was Rachel's chance to no longer be a little girl, alone on a swing, listening to music from the outside.

Once at the auditorium, Quinn quickly changed into her black and gold dress, sliding her hair into the gold band. Looking at herself in the mirror, she fiddled with the cross that shone back at her. She'd contemplated taking it off, so many times in the two weeks since she'd left her parents' house, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. That cross was her anchor, her guarantee that no matter what she was going through, no matter which way her life would turn, there was _something_ better waiting for her.

For the first time, Quinn was starting to think that maybe that something better might not actually be just God.

The others had gone backstage to wait for their cue; Quinn allowed herself to open the door at the back of the auditorium, and she peeked inside, taking care not to be noticed.

She knew what she was looking for.

_Who_ she was looking for.

But there was no short blonde hair on a head set above strong, broad shoulders. No tall, thin woman dressed in canary yellow, who would be staring at her daughter with love and pride as she sang her heart out on stage.

Her parents weren't there. They wouldn't be.

Quinn knew they would probably never be there for her again.

She closed the door hastily as she heard a pair of all too familiar voices.

Rachel.

Finn.

Her eyes darted around until she found a small alcove; she ducked into it.

"Ready?" Rachel was asking the boy.

Quinn saw that he just smiled at her.

They took up their places opposite each other at the auditorium doors. She watched as Rachel smoothed her dress, then glanced back at Finn. He seemed to be considering something, before taking a tentative step over her. Breathing deeply, the smaller girl walked up to the star quarterback, meeting him halfway.

"Break a leg," she offered quietly, reassuringly.

"I love you, and I know you love me," Finn said.

Quinn didn't wait for Rachel's response. The tears flooded her eyes as she ran backstage. Santana shot her a confused look, but Quinn said nothing.

She'd made a mistake. She'd come out, she'd lost her parents; she was now a stranger living in someone else's home… for nothing.

Finn loved Rachel.

Finn _loved_ Rachel.

He could admit it. He could give Rachel his love, where Quinn could only dream of it, at that moment.

He didn't have to be afraid. His relationship with Rachel wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't subject her to ridicule – or worse, violence.

Finn would be _safe_.

Quinn swallowed past her tears as the opening notes of the song began to float around her.

Rachel deserved to have Finn to love her.

Quinn watched them together, watched as Finn couldn't take his eyes off Rachel. Watched Rachel, radiant in her dress and her hair falling down her shoulders, her eyes meeting Finn's measure for measure with a tiny half-smile on her face.

Listened as they sang their faithful devotion to each other, in perfect rhythm with the breaking of her heart.

But there was something else Quinn was fighting, as she looked at Rachel in that dress.

Rachel. In that _dress_.

The strains of the mash up for Any Way You Want It and Lovin'/Touchin'/Squeezin' were pounding in her ears as Quinn couldn't take her eyes off Rachel, her skin creamy and tan against the straps of her dress. Her hair flying with each movement, and those _legs_ that went on forever.

She let her mind drift back, to lips on hers, to ankles wrapped around each other in the heat of an embrace. Rachel's soft moans and eyes open wide with wonder. Quinn's own eyes full of nothing but a small naked girl underneath her.

And maybe her heart was breaking; maybe her world was coming down around her for the second time in less than three weeks, but when Quinn was next to Rachel in that damnable dress, trying not to concentrate on the swell of her breasts against the fabric, and wanting nothing more than to put her mouth on Rachel's collarbone…

She licked her lips.

The group was flawless. The crowd went wild for Don't Stop Believing, and Quinn found herself caught up in the applause despite watching Finn hug Rachel with a thousand-watt smile.

As they rushed backstage, Quinn caught Rachel's exuberant exclamation of "We're going to win this thing!" and she smiled at the girl's hope, even in the face of knowing Sylvester's signature would be on the ballot. It was infectious, really, and Quinn thought how nice it would be for her parents to see her name in the paper, as part of a group of winners.

Maybe then they'd regret their decision.

It didn't stop her from glancing around backstage though, as if she thought she'd see her mother or father there, waiting for her. To tell her that they loved her, and that she could come home and be whoever she wanted to be, and love whomever she wanted to love.

They weren't there.

She felt a squeeze in her hand, and turned her head to see Brittany smiling sadly at her.

"You all right?" she said.

Quinn smiled and nodded.

Brittany tilted her head, then said, "I'm proud of you, Quinn."

She leaned down and gently kissed Quinn's cheek. She straightened up with a grin, then just flounced off to join her girlfriend, leaving Quinn behind to raise her hand to her cheek, and shake her head with tears sparkling in her eyes.

She held Mercedes and Kurt's hands on the stage, all too aware of Rachel on the other side, one hand grasping Artie, the other held securely in Finn's, her smile confident as she looked over at Vocal Adrenaline.

Quinn watched as Rachel's smile wavered, then fell, as Vocal Adrenaline pumped their fists in exhilaration, hugging each other in the winner's circle. The tiny trophy passed over to Schuester was like a knife in the glee clubbers' hearts. They knew when they left that stage, the glee club would cease to exist. They smiled valiantly, ever the graceful losers – but only because Rachel had previously spouted something about artist integrity and learning to take defeat with aplomb.

("We get plums if we lose?" Brittany had asked.)

It was only later, when Quinn went to use the bathroom before they all loaded up into the van for the somber drive back to Lima, that she realized Rachel took defeat just as well as the rest of them.

The little diva was leaning against the sink, staring at herself in the mirror as tears fell. Quinn said nothing to her; she used the restroom then went to wash her hands, only allowing herself to look at Rachel after throwing away the wet paper towel.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked softly.

Rachel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and managed a watery smile.

"It's not the first time I haven't won the prize."

Quinn wondered if Rachel was actually talking about a Regionals trophy.

She had a sneaking suspicion she wasn't.

"It'll be all right," she tried. "Mr. Schuester will find some way to keep us together."

Rachel closed her eyes and shook her head. "If we're not meant to be together, we're not. Nothing we try will hold us together."

Yeah, definitely not talking about Regionals and the glee club.

So Quinn tried something else. "At least you have Finn."

Rachel's head snapped up and she stared into Quinn's eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I… I was looking for my parents in the auditorium, before we performed—"

"I'm sorry they weren't there. They missed out on seeing their daughter." Rachel toyed with the hem of her tee-shirt.

She met Quinn's eyes again. "She was beautiful."

Quinn smiled slightly. "Thanks. But… I heard Finn. Heard him say he loved you."

"Ah." Rachel nodded. "Yes. He loves me."

"So that's good, right?" She willed her voice to sound cheery. "You might not have glee, but he can be your boyfriend again, and he… he'll be really good to you, Rach."

_Better than I could ever be._

Rachel cocked her head, her brow furrowing. "Quinn… how much did you hear? When I talked to Finn?"

"I wasn't eavesdropping," she hurried to say. "I don't do that." _Much._ "I just heard him say that he loves you."

Rachel nodded slowly. "You should have eavesdropped," she said, pursing her lips then and turning back to the mirror, wetting a paper towel and dabbing at the redness around her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Because, Quinn," Rachel sighed, "If you had just listened a minute longer, you would have heard me tell Finn that it could never work between us."

Quinn's mouth dropped open, and Rachel laughed, sadly.

"You would have heard me tell him that I couldn't ever love him the way he loves me, because as good to me as you think he could be, I love someone else."

Rachel tossed the paper into the basket and turned to Quinn. "If you'd just listened to me, been listening to me all along, you would have heard it clearly, Quinn."

"Heard what?" Quinn asked, her voice tiny.

Rachel strode over to the door and opened it, turning back to look at Quinn.

"You would have heard that it's _you_, Quinn. It's _always_ been _you_."

Rachel shook her head and walked out the door, leaving Quinn alone in an empty bathroom.

On the way back to Lima, Rachel sat by herself and Quinn stayed alone, even when Santana slapped her on the upper arm and gestured towards the small brunette. Quinn ignored her, and rested her forehead against the cold glass, watching as the bus carried her back to Lima.

Back to a dead end.


	17. Chapter 16

To her credit, Santana waited until almost eleven that evening to confront Quinn.

"What the hell happened there?"

"Where?"

"Regionals."

"We lost?"

Santana flexed her fingers and Quinn almost stepped back, fearing the Latina's fists. But Santana only took a deep breath and said in a tightly-controlled voice, "What happened between you and Rachel?"

Quinn shrugged. "How do you know something happened?"

"Oh, my god, you are not really that much of a fucking idiot!" Santana exploded.

"Stop it, San," Brittany said then, tugging the Latina back down onto the bed with her.

"What happened, Quinn?"

She sighed and sat down at Santana's desk, backwards in the chair, resting her chin on the wood.

"I heard Finn, just before Faithfully, tell Rachel he loves her."

"Ouch," Santana said, a look of sympathy crossing over her face.

"And then I ran into Rachel in the bathroom after we lost. I was trying to comfort her because you know, now we don't have glee."

"Yeah," Brittany said softly. "I'm going to miss it." She smiled when Santana leaned up to kiss her.

"So what did you say to her?" Santana asked.

Quinn winced. "I told her that she would be okay, because at least she'd have Finn."

Brittany tilted her head. "Okay, San, _now_ you can hit her."

Quinn just groaned and thumped her forehead on the back of the chair. "I know, I know, I'm an idiot," she said. "Especially after what Rachel said."

"Which was?"

Quinn couldn't meet their eyes. "She told Finn that she couldn't love him, because there was someone else." She looked at her friends, snuggled up together on Santana's bed, and felt her heart clench momentarily.

"She said it's always been me."

"There's your answer, then."

Quinn arched an eyebrow at Santana. "What do you mean, there's my answer?"

"It's you, for her. No matter how much you try to convince yourself that someone else is better for her, or that you're not ready for her, or whatever the fuck you're filling that delusional head of yours with, it's _you_ for her. That's it, that's all she wrote."

"Rachel sings," Brittany said with a nudge into Santana's side. "She doesn't write."

"And thank god for that," Santana said. She looked at Quinn and shook her head. "Get your shit together. In the meantime, get out. I have naked plans for tonight, and they don't include you."

She contemplated staying for a minute longer just to aggravate her friend, but Brittany's shirt was already off and Quinn knocked over the chair in her hasty exit to her own room.

It was Rachel's idea for the club to sing something to Mr. Schuester as a thank you for making their year special. Everyone had rolled their eyes at first, but even they knew that nothing was going to be the same, without glee.

Quinn perched on her stool and tried to stop the tears that had started flowing as soon as they'd begun practicing the song. She tried not to look over at Rachel, but the girl in her plaid skirt and blue sweater was still crying as she spoke to Schuester, and Quinn wanted nothing more than to gather her in her arms, and never let go.

But she just sat.

"At the beginning of this year," Matt began quietly, "I was just another football player."

They went down the line, until it was Quinn's turn.

What was she at the beginning of the year? Who had Quinn Camille Fabray been, entering her junior year?

Who _would_ she be, when she left it?

She took a deep breath. "I didn't know what real love was."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Rachel had stiffened, and her mouth had dropped open a little bit. Santana, on the other hand, simply looked at Quinn and mouthed "Finally."

Quinn smirked.

Finn went on some long-ass ramble about needing a father, and Quinn rolled her eyes.

Then it was Rachel's turn.

"At the beginning of this year," she said softly, "I was already in love."

Finn's eyes widened, as did the rest of the club's, with the exception of two cheerleaders and a hazel-eyed girl sitting to Rachel's right.

Throughout the song, no one was able to hold back their tears, thinking about losing something that had, as Rachel had once said, made them all special.

At the same time, at least one of them was thinking about what she would do without the one _person_ that had made her feel special, beyond any others.

Quinn tried to imagine her summer without Rachel. Sure, she'd had seventeen summers without Rachel so far, but this… It seemed as if it was right within her reach, but she'd fucked it up too much to repair it. Fed Rachel some lie about not being ready for her, when in reality Quinn was too afraid to admit just how much she wanted – how much she _needed_ – the obnoxious little diva with the big voice, and even bigger heart.

As they sang, Quinn snuck a glance over at Rachel, at the tears that freely streaked down her cheeks, how even while she was crying her voice was steady and strong. Rachel… steady and strong no matter what life threw at her.

_If you wanted the moon I'd try to make a start_

_But I'd rather you let me give my heart…_

Quinn wanted that strength, needed it.

Maybe, just maybe, she didn't want to ever have to think of life without it.

The song ended, Schuester and everyone else was crying…

Quinn ran off the stage and out the door of William McKinley High School.

Santana found her a few minutes later, leaning up against her car, tears pouring.

"You all right?" she asked. "Rachel's in there giving everyone the third degree for upsetting you."

Quinn grinned. "Take me home?" she asked.

"Sure," San shrugged. "You sure you're all right?"

Quinn nodded. "I need to use the computer."

"For what?"

"Operation Get Rachel Berry Back?"

"Fucking hell," Santana breathed, grinning in spite of her shock. "They finally dropped."

The bruise she'd have on her arm for the next week from Quinn's punch was well worth it.


	18. Chapter 17

The entire next day was agony, and not because she'd stayed up the whole night, only falling asleep at the computer around four a.m.

All she could do was watch Rachel, watch as she wanted more than anything to take the girl into her arms and kiss her senseless. But she forced herself to wait. And just before the last class of the day, she made her move.

Santana said it was a _pathetic_ move, and under the circumstances, Quinn was inclined to agree. But she did it anyway. Just before she made her way to her locker, and being sure that Rachel was nowhere to be found – but hadn't made it to _her_ locker yet – Quinn got there first, and carefully slipped the folded note through the slats in the metal. She hoped it hadn't fallen to where Rachel wouldn't be able to see it.

It wasn't like she'd searched all damn night, after all, for the perfect words. And maybe they weren't perfect for any other person, but for Rachel? Quinn smiled and walked back down the hall, the handwritten note clearly in her mind.

O, when she's angry

She is keen and shrewd!

She was a vixen when she went to school;

And though she be but little

She is fierce.

*heart*, Juliet

She hoped Rachel understood the significance of Juliet's heart.

When Quinn made it out to the car after class and leaned next to Brittany, Santana surveyed her, then shook her head.

"What?" Quinn said, unable to keep the smile off her face.

"You're disgusting," the captain snarked. "Seriously, love notes in her locker?"

"You left a stuffed ducky in mine," Brittany said happily, resting her head on the Cheerio's shoulder.

Quinn laughed as Santana's face turned a brilliant shade of red, but the girl just shrugged and grinned.

"You were up pretty late last night."

Quinn nodded, watching the door to the school. "Hope it was worth it," she said softly.

What if Rachel didn't get the note? Or worse, what if she got it and threw it away without reading it? What if she had left earlier? What if—

A hand suddenly rested on top of hers, and Quinn looked over to see Brittany smiling at her.

"Relax, Q," she said. "She likes you. Even if you are really stupid sometimes. Like Santana."

The two girls just looked at each other dumbly, but Quinn was soon distracted when the door opened and the object of her worry stepped outside. One look at Rachel, and a smirk made its way across her face, because Rachel met Quinn's eyes and immediately flushed, a tiny hand clutched around a white piece of paper.

Quinn's note.

It gave her some satisfaction, to watch how flustered Rachel was as she walked across the parking lot towards them. True, Quinn was nervous as hell herself, because after this? There was _no_ turning back.

She still couldn't quell her self-doubt, though, and the scenarios that ran through her head.

What if Rachel had gotten back together with Finn?

She immediately began to plot out her self-defense strategy for the murder trial.

"Quinn."

She raised her eyes to Rachel, wondering if this hadn't been a really bad decision, and if she should just jump in the car and force Santana to drive her away.

Santana made the decision for her, grabbing the girl's bag and stowing it in the backseat, before thumping her hands on Quinn's shoulders and physically pushing her towards Rachel.

"C'mon, Britt," she said casually, linking pinkies with her girlfriend. "Let's go for a walk and leave Gandalf and her hobbit in peace."

Quinn rolled her eyes but smiled a little as Rachel glared at Santana's retreating back.

"Rachel?" she queried.

She held up the note, still clutched in her hand – which was trembling.

"Did you honestly think that a clichéd gesture like leaving a cheesy romantic note in my locker would win me over?"

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "You thought it was romantic?"

Rachel blushed bright red and her mouth dropped open a little. "Well, while they definitely weren't the words _I_ would have chosen, they did have a certain… charm."

"Did they?" Quinn said smoothly, taking a step towards Rachel, her eyes never leaving the other girl's.

It was now or never.

Rachel swallowed hard, but didn't back up as Quinn advanced on her. "Of course, I am rather impressed that you've learned _some_ Shakespeare, which is a welcome improvement from when we were eleven, but I think you could use some further, ah, study."

"Oh, do you?" Quinn's voice was low, even seductively mocking as she took another step forward. She was close, now, close enough to reach out and cup Rachel's waist with her right hand, reveling in the slight shiver that coursed through the smaller girl's body.

Quinn licked her lips, then put her heart on her sleeve and quoted softly, "'I would not wish any companion in the world but you.' "

Her smirk broadened when she saw the shock on Rachel's face, the tears that began to sparkle in her brown eyes. Quinn slid even closer, so that their fronts were now pressed together, and her arms were around Rachel's waist.

"How was that?" she nearly purred.

Rachel squeaked a little. "Not… not bad," she breathed. "Though I confess I'm perplexed as to why you've taken a sudden interest in the Bard."

Quinn's hand reached up to brush Rachel's hair out of her face, cupping the girl's cheek. "Because," she said, "'Who could refrain that had a heart to love, and in that heart courage to make love known?'"

She dipped her head low, and brought her lips to Rachel's, kissing her gently. She separated but left her forehead pressed to the little diva's, and her hand on her cheek, smiling at her.

Her heart lifted when Rachel smiled back.

"You stayed up all night Googling romantic quotes from Shakespeare," she stated.

"Uh-huh."

"You did it for _me_."

Quinn nodded.

"Well, if your intention was to woo me," Rachel stood up on tiptoes and kissed Quinn again, then whispered into her ear, "Consider me wooed."

Quinn was holding onto Rachel so hard she was a little afraid she was going to crush the girl, but she didn't care, as she lowered her head to Rachel's shoulder and tucked her face into her neck.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled. "About everything. What I did, what I said…"

Rachel's hand was in her hair, stroking gently. "It's all right, Quinn. I can excuse your rudeness, since it was inspired by the fear of your latent, yet completely obvious to everyone but you, homosexuality."

She laughed when Quinn growled indignantly.

"And I should have been more understanding." Rachel kissed the top of Quinn's head, nuzzling her hair.

"You're not the only one who went about this completely wrong, Quinn. I pushed you too hard, and you had no choice but to lash out. It's always been easy for me to accept sexuality, even when it's my own. But I forgot, I guess, how hard things could be for you. And for that, _I'm_ sorry, Quinn."

Quinn just nodded into Rachel's neck and rubbed the smaller girl's back, hearing only one thing in all of Rachel's words.

Forgiveness.

"So can we start over?"

Quinn stood up and looked at her, tilting her head at the uncertain expression on Rachel's face.

"Start over?"

"Well, I do think that given the events of the last few months, we should begin slowly and try to regain the friendship that we had first. But I do think you should also know that my ultimate goal of this endeavor will be to—"

"Rachel," Quinn said softly, smiling at her.

Rachel grinned and took a deep breath. "Quinn Fabray, would you like to go out on a date with me?"

Quinn giggled, squeezing Rachel's hand. "I'd love to go out on a date with you, Rachel Berry."

"Wonderful," Rachel beamed when Quinn reached out and tucked a brown curl behind her ear. "The Lima Players are putting on Funny Girl this weekend!"

Quinn failed miserably at groaning in protest.

Rachel just shook her head. "Now come on. As much as I love displays of affection that are straight out of a teenage romantic comedy, Schuester sent me out here to round you and Santana and Brittany up. He wants us all to come to the choir room. Apparently he has some big announcement."

She sat with Rachel in the choir room with Brittany and Santana on the other side. All of the former glee clubbers stared at Schue, wondering why he was grinning at them when this was their last day together. Really, shouldn't he still be crying? Or "off sucking face with Ms. Pillsbury," Santana asked Quinn.

But then Schuester was standing up and saying "We got another year!"

Quinn blinked. Wait, what? Had she heard him correctly? Another year?

"Come on," he said. "We've got another year!"

Instant chaos erupted in the glee room. Rachel's squeal was the loudest and in the midst of everyone yelling and hugging, Quinn felt Rachel grab her around the waist, and then Rachel's lips were on hers.

Kissing her.

In the middle of the glee room.

In front of everyone.

Somewhere in between Rachel's mouth doing delicious things and the shivers currently running down her spine, Quinn was cognizant that both Puck and Santana were cheering loudly, that Brittany was clapping, and that Finn had sunk back into his chair with wide eyes. Behind her, unseen by Quinn and Rachel, Mercedes quietly pulled a ten dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to a triumphant Kurt. The rest of the club really had no earthly clue what was going on.

She managed to tap Rachel on the shoulder, and Rachel practically rocketed backwards.

"Oh, God," she mumbled. "Oh, fucking _shit_."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth turning up a little, every nerve in her body still tingling with _Rachel_.

"You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth, Berry?" she joked.

Rachel flushed, then grinned. "I will if she wants me to."

"That's one way to come out, I guess," Quinn said quietly, and reached out to take Rachel's hand, suddenly nervous and needing the reassurance.

Rachel, sixth sense always in tune, squeezed her hand, and Quinn smiled at her.

She turned to the club. "Got anything you want to say?" Her hazel eyes dared them.

"Yeah," Puck said, his eyes gleaming . "I want to—"

Yes, she was little and she was _fierce_, as Puck found out when Rachel's foot connected with his shin.

"Shut it, Puckerman," she simply said, then pointed to Quinn. "Mine."

Quinn blinked at her.

"Um…" Rachel winced. "Mine?"

Quinn giggled and kissed her. "Yours."

And then Rachel was rattling off something about it being the perfect time for them to start planning their song selections for next year's Sectionals, and Schuester was gently pushing her back towards her chair – back towards _Quinn_ – admonishing that it was time for them to just be teenagers and enjoy their summer.

Quinn looked at Rachel's sparkling brown eyes, and knew she was set to have one hell of an amazing summer.

Puck recovered from the pain in his knee long enough to grab his guitar and sit with Schuester for their teacher's own tribute to the club.

Quinn took her spot back in her chair with Rachel at her side. At some point during Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Rachel's arm made it through Quinn's, and her hand clutched the smaller girl's tightly. The minute Rachel's head nestled onto her shoulder, the tears started again for Quinn.

All the pain she'd gone through leading up to this point? So worth it.

So what if she'd lost her parents. So what if they thought she was sick, immoral, _wrong_?

There was no way this could be wrong, she thought, as she pressed a kiss to the top of Rachel's head, and felt the girl snuggle closer to her.

There was only one thing that loving Rachel Berry, and having her love in return, could be.

_Beautiful._


	19. Chapter 18

_Senior year, 2011_

Quinn Fabray sat in the Berry living room, chewing on her pen with books and notebooks open in front of her.

Her girlfriend had gone to get the mail, and Quinn was relishing the quiet. As much as she adored Rachel, really, the girl's propensity for never shutting up had held strong all throughout their seven-month relationship.

It had been an amazing seven months, though, tempered with the fact that Quinn's parents still hadn't made any effort to talk to her. She'd come home to the Lopezes one day after spending the afternoon at the pool with Rachel, Brittany, and Santana, and Quinn's previous 17 years of life were sitting on the front porch in boxes.

The only thing missing had been the pictures of her parents.

She'd sat on the porch steps and cried like a baby, with Rachel's arms around her and Santana's soft swears echoing in her head, threats of bodily harm to both of her parents. Brittany had just cupped her face and looked into her eyes, and kissed her forehead.

Rachel's dads knew they couldn't take the place of Quinn's parents, but they sure as hell tried, and she was more than grateful to them. They'd tried to convince her to move in with them, but Rachel had turned pink to the tips of her ears at the words "open door policy" when they'd talked about rules, and Quinn figured it was best to stay at the Lopezes… and visit Rachel during her fathers' antiquing excursions.

Everything wasn't perfect. Rachel still managed to annoy the hell out of Quinn on a pretty much daily basis, and there'd been arguments so harsh that if they'd shared a house, Quinn would have been sleeping on the couch on a regular basis. She learned quickly that you never, _ever_ criticize a Barbra Streisand performance. _Ever_. It had taken a week and two dozen roses for Rachel to forgive Quinn. But Quinn had also learned fairly quickly that makeup sex with Rachel? Well, it almost made the arguing worth it.

Quinn wouldn't trade it for anything, not even the arguments. Because even in spite of the arguments, there was always her and Rachel. Rachel always by her side, holding her hand and loving her. Rachel, who had grabbed Abbie in her arms and hugged her fiercely, within seconds of meeting Quinn's sister. Rachel who was fussing at Quinn about her pitch on a certain song one minute, and then telling her she was the most beautiful woman in the world the next.

It was like being on a constant, Rachel Berry-induced roller coaster, and Quinn loved every minute of it.

She heard the front door open and Quinn glanced over her shoulder, smiling at the sight of her little girlfriend in shorts and a tee shirt, a baseball cap perched on top of her head.

Gangster Diva, Quinn called her when she dressed like that, earning a swat to her arm every time.

Rachel sat down on the couch next to Quinn, resting her head on Quinn's shoulder, then propping her feet up on the coffee table and sighing as she absently flipped through mail.

Quinn, who had been trying to refocus on her Spanish homework, cast a sidelong glance at the smaller girl.

"Everything all right, Rach?"

Rachel nodded absently. She held up a large white envelope. "Juilliard," she said carefully, looking at her girlfriend.

Quinn felt her heart stop.

"Oh."

"It's just the applications material," Rachel said hastily. "I have to submit some forms, and some pre-screenings, and then, if they like what they hear, they'll notify me for an audition."

Quinn smiled faintly. "I know they'll like what they hear, Rachel. There's no way they won't let you audition."

"Thank you, baby," Rachel said with a small smile and kissed Quinn's cheek.

The blonde girl turned back to her homework, but was brought out of her studies moments later by the question she'd known was coming.

"So… have you thought about where you might apply?"

"Not really," Quinn answered, even though, yes, she'd thought about it.

So many times.

She knew that Rachel wanted Quinn to go to New York with her. She talked about it, incessantly: about Quinn going to NYU and she would go to Juilliard. That they would live in their own apartment, go to classes and go to Broadway shows on the weekend.

"And," she'd whispered conspiratorially to Quinn on more than one occasion, "you can be as loud as you want to."

She'd squealed when Quinn hit her in the face with a pillow for that one.

Rachel, in her perpetual optimism, saw sunshine and rainbows, the glitter of showing up in New York and taking it by storm. She saw joy and laughter, singing on stage and making all her dreams – and Quinn's – come true.

Quinn's vision was a little darker.

She saw two teenage girls, living on their own in a strange city (no matter how well Rachel claimed to know New York) with only one set of parents supporting them. She worried about finding jobs, because tuition was expensive and she wasn't sure her grades were good enough for scholarships – and she was not about to ask the Berrys for money.

Quinn worried about finding an apartment in a safe neighborhood, because she would _not_ let Rachel live someplace where she'd get hurt. Rachel could joke about Quinn being a football player in heels, and even though she would whip off a heel and beat someone to death with it if they even _thought_ about coming near Rachel (Santana had deemed that "fucking hot as hell"), she wasn't keen on going up against muggers or murderers.

She worried about Rachel making it on Broadway. Quinn was pretty sure that Juilliard and Broadway wouldn't know what hit them, once Rachel Berry showed up, but she also knew that pretty little singers with amazing voices were a dime a dozen in New York. And what if Rachel _didn't_ make it? What if her dreams died like so many others, swept under the rug of auditions with no callbacks, days spent working in Starbucks while hoping the next Hammerstein or Schwartz would discover you as you were pouring up their venti decaf flat organic latte?

But more than that, Quinn was terrified. She'd been with Rachel for seven months – seven wonderful, mind-numbing, amazing, aggravating months – but still only seven months.

And she hadn't yet said those three words to Rachel.

Was it the finality of them? Was it the fear making an emotion real, when you were afraid it wouldn't last? Love is the greatest risk, Quinn had heard once, and she'd already lost her parents by risking a chance at love.

What if she risked that final chance, that last opening of her heart fully… only to have it thrown back at her?

What if Rachel wasn't meant to be with Quinn forever?

She could handle losing her parents.

Quinn wasn't sure which would be worse: losing Rachel, or _leaving_ Rachel before she had a chance to lose her.

"Quinn," Rachel said carefully, realizing that they were probably going to hit another brick wall, as they always did when this topic came up, "you really need to start applying, honey. We're getting really close to graduation."

"I know, Rachel," her girlfriend said tiredly. Knowing studying was useless at this point, she capped her pen and closed her books, turning her attention to the brunette now staring at her worriedly.

The white envelope on her desk at the Lopezes – at _home_ – loomed ever present in Quinn's mind.

"You don't know if you want to live with me," Rachel said, looking down at her hands.

Quinn reached out and took her hand, using her other to tip Rachel's chin up. "That's not it."

"We've been together almost a year," Rachel stated sadly. "And despite your vastly improved knowledge of the romance of Shakespeare, you still haven't _really_ said you love me."

"I know," Quinn nodded. "And that's why I've made my decision."

Rachel looked at her, eyes wide and fearful, her breath beginning to come in short, sharp rasps.

"Quinn… you know I'll wait for you, forever if I have to."

Quinn shook her head, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her, to find the courage to say the words she knew needed to be said.

Because Rachel deserved better.

"I'm sorry, Rachel, but I can't let you do that."

Softly, tenderly, her hands in Rachel's, Quinn told the smaller girl of her plans for the future, and started crying herself, when Rachel's face twisted with tears.


	20. Epilogue

It was after ten when Quinn unlocked the door to the apartment, swinging it open slowly and sighing when she was met with darkness and silence. She flipped the light on, kicking the door shut with the heel of her foot and wincing when it banged louder than she had intended.

She dropped her keys into the bowl on the table by the door and hung her coat on the hook in the wall. Crossing the floor of the living room, she glanced quickly at the answering machine.

The bright red zero blinked at her, mocking.

She headed into the kitchen to pour water into the coffee maker, setting it to turn on at ten the next morning. Ten a.m. What a delicious concept, after two weeks of getting up at seven and not returning home until after the sun was already gone from the sky.

She'd eaten dinner on the way home, hating that it was fast food, but grateful for a burger. She spit her mint gum into the trash can, thumping it quietly shut.

Quinn grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, then turned the light off to the living room, using the soft glow from her cell phone to navigate the hallway of the tiny apartment until she made it to the master bathroom.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled off her scrubs and dropped them into the hamper. She noticed a small bottle of purple liquid out of place on the vanity table. She smiled and put it back with the other bottles of perfume on the left side of the vanity.

Quinn brushed her teeth quickly, then washed her makeup off and surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked tired. She _was_ tired.

She was almost finished with her undergrad studies. If she could make it through her clinicals that semester, she'd be well on her way to becoming a registered nurse. She'd thought it an odd choice at first, but then realized that she really did like taking care of people. Even if sometimes it got to be overwhelming.

It felt good to put everything away, to let the worries and stress slip off her, to toss her scrubs in the basket and know that she wouldn't have to get up at 7 a.m. the next morning.

At last in a pair of old sweats and a tee-shirt, Quinn pulled her hair out of its ponytail and brushed it free, grateful for the tightness against her head to be gone. Now she could relax, and let go of the busyness of the day.

She was _home_.

The bed was calling her name, had been for the last three hours, and so Quinn climbed into it, tucking the covers over her and sighing a little too happily when her head hit the pillows.

She heard a sleepy giggle to her left, and she grinned. She reached out until she found softness, then pulled, gently.

A head tucked just under her chin, and Quinn closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of freesia.

"Hi," she said to the girl in her arms.

Another pair of arms found their way around Quinn's waist.

"Hi, yourself," Rachel yawned. She leaned up and found Quinn's lips in the darkness, kissing her tenderly, then rested her head back on Quinn's chest.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

Rachel shook her head, her soft brown hair tickling Quinn's chin. "You didn't. Well, not much. You know I can't really fall asleep unless you're here. I hate your new shift."

"I know," Quinn said, and squeezed her girlfriend tightly. "But it's just a couple more weeks. And I have the weekend off." This was a rare occurrence, since Quinn also worked part-time at a local coffee shop to bring in a little extra income.

Rachel squealed then, and Quinn laughed despite the momentary ringing in her eardrums.

"We should do something. Go shopping. Or go see a show."

"Or stay home. In bed," Quinn teased.

"Sleep sounds good," Rachel mused, yawning again.

"I'm sure we could work a couple of naps around the _other activities_ we should do in bed this weekend."

"Are you propositioning me for your nefarious sexual purposes, Quinn Fabray?"

"Are you accepting, Rachel Berry?"

"Well, obviously," Rachel said drily. "If I wasn't so exhausted, I'd be taking you up on that proposition _right now_."

Quinn smiled and nuzzled Rachel's cheek. Even with her own classes at NYU and clinicals at the hospital, she knew Rachel worked just as hard, bouncing back and forth between her courses at Juilliard and giving private music lessons to kids part-time.

For a moment she let her mind drift back to that day years ago, to the words she'd said to Rachel as they sat on the couch in the Berrys' living room.

_"I'm sorry, Rachel, but I can't let you do that."_

_"Can't let me do what?"_

_"Wait for me."_

_"But, I—"_

_"I've thought about it, Rachel," Quinn said softly. "I've thought about it a lot, and I just wasn't sure of what to do. I'm… I'm afraid of so many things."_

_"Like what?" Rachel asked, searching Quinn's face for any sign of the answer that might lie there, beyond calm hazel eyes._

_Quinn shrugged. "Of not making it. Of not having enough money. Of you not being able to realize your dreams."_

_"Quinn, I—" _

_Rachel was stopped by Quinn's finger, gentle on her lips._

_"I'm afraid of something else the most."_

_"What?" Rachel breathed._

_Quinn smiled, trying to stave off the tears beginning to flow down her cheeks, and being mostly unsuccessful._

_"I'm afraid of not being with you. I'm afraid of losing you; I'm afraid of you waking up one day and realizing that you could have someone so much better than me."_

_"Quinn," Rachel huffed, but once again her girlfriend stopped her._

_"I've spent my whole life being afraid of love, Rachel. You once asked me how I felt about taking chances. About diving in without knowing what will happen, but knowing that we'd be together. I couldn't answer you back then… but I can now."_

_Rachel's eyes widened but never left Quinn's face, almost as if she was worried the dream would die if she looked away._

_"So… what does that mean?"_

_Quinn leaned forward and looked into Rachel's eyes, hoping the smaller girl could see the love in hers._

_"It means you don't have to wait for me. I applied to NYU, and I got my acceptance letter yesterday."_

_Rachel's smile threatened to split her cheeks, even as her own tears flowed._

_"Let's go to New York, baby."_

It wasn't an easy life: two 21-year-old girls trying to make it with nothing but a pocketful of dreams and just enough cash to pay rent and utilities on a tiny apartment, in a less-than-savory neighborhood, and have a little left over for food every month. It was the uncertainty of living paycheck to paycheck, the loneliness of being so far away from the only home they had known, coursework coupled with jobs to make ends meet. It was the reality of two continually tired women who fought so hard the world threatened to crash down around them, but who also built it back up with just a kiss and a soft word.

They'd never once gone to bed mad at each other. It was one of Rachel's "relationship requirements," and Quinn was grateful for it.

Quinn's parents hadn't spoken to her since she'd left Lima with Rachel. Abbie came up from D.C. regularly with her boyfriend, because, as she said "misery loves company, and we're the black sheep, baby sister," which made Quinn smile in spite of the hurt. There were nights when all Rachel could do was hold her as she cried for the loss of her mom and dad, because as glad as Quinn was that she could finally be herself, they were still her parents, and she missed them.

She still went to church, every Sunday taking the subway to the Church of the Holy Trinity, in time for the 10:30 Eucharist. It was an Episcopal church, and unlike anything the previously-evangelical Quinn had ever known, but she'd read on its website that it was accepting of _everyone_, so she decided to give it a try. It took some effort, learning how to navigate back and forth in the prayer book, and when to kneel or stand or cross herself. But the parishioners and the rector were lovely; the rector had never hesitated to talk with Quinn whenever she had a question about something from the Bible, or something she'd learned as a child. Soon Quinn felt more welcome there, more assured of Christian love, than she had ever felt at Lighthouse Baptist.

Rachel had gone with her, once, and in her nervousness had tripped over a kneeler and as a result had somehow landed in the middle of the aisle. That had been the extent of Rachel's church experience, but Quinn knew her little diva supported her faith; more often than not, it was _Rachel_ who reminded her just what God's love was truly about.

She also knew it wore on Rachel, sometimes, seeing how Quinn would get a haunted look in her eyes when each Christmas or birthday came and went with no acknowledgement of her except from her sister and Rachel's dads. Every holiday was a reminder that Quinn, although her parents were still living, was an orphan.

Most days, though, there wasn't time to think of anything else but classes, bills, and each other.

Their life was hard, Quinn knew.

But it was _their_ life… together.

Rachel snuggled her body closer to Quinn's, and the taller blonde girl had that sense of déjà vu, the feeling that Rachel was trying to get under her skin.

But now, she was already there, and Quinn wouldn't have it any other way.

"How was your burger?"

"Awesome," Quinn responded without thinking, then immediately froze. "_Shit_."

Rachel chuckled.

"Sorry, Rach," she said guiltily.

She felt her girlfriend shake her head, then tilt her face up and kiss her chin.

"You're so cute the way you try to hide it, even after all this time. Especially since you know I don't mind. Much."

Quinn just grinned.

She closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of the girl in her arms. Rachel's breathing evened out and Quinn's soon began to match it, as she felt sleep start to overtake them both. She stroked Rachel's hair and sighed again, happily.

"Quinn?"

"Yes, baby."

"I love you so much, my Juliet."

Quinn smiled drowsily and touched her lips to Rachel's once more.

"I love you, too."


End file.
